Ebb & Flow
by CatS81
Summary: An AU look at Boyd & Grace's shared past and how this has shaped their current relationship...This story will be set from the 80s to the present day and will chronicle each character's life and how they come to meet, interact and effect each other...
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: I don't own 'Waking the Dead' or any of its characters, the BBC has that honour – I'm just taking them out to play for a bit.

**Pairing**: Boyd/Grace.

**Content**: Drama, Angst, Romance, AU.

**Rating**: T/M, for language, adult themes.

**Spoilers**: Series 8, 'End Game'; there will definitely be other spoilers but I'll add them as I go....

**A/N**: Since my muse has (hopefully temporarily!) abandoned me with respect to 'The Ashes of a Dove', I thought I'd have a crack at something new! This is an idea that's been bugging me for a long time; it's basically going to tell the Boyd/Grace back-story, how they met and why they have such a connection. It'll be set from the 80s to the present day....so as you can imagine, it might get a tad complicated and I haven't quite worked out how/if it'll work yet! As always, comments/criticisms warmly welcomed! :)

**2010 – Directly post-'End Game'**

Grace Foley closed her eyes slowly, the coiled knot of tension in her stomach tightening intensely despite her determined efforts to relax. Willing temperance to her pounding heart, she took a deep, cleansing breath, commanding the air in and out of her body in a calming circle, forcing herself to concentrate on the sensation, the rhythm of her chest as it rose and fell. _I'm achieving nothing by worrying_, she told herself firmly. _It's a complete waste of energy, of brain power, of.... _Sighing in resignation, she allowed the chain of thought to snap abruptly, aware of her body's betrayal as her hands gripped the bed covers of their own accord, twisting the material as she sought a physical outlet for her anxiety, and she felt her head fall back against her pillow. _God, it's hopeless_, she thought darkly, her stomach once more churning unpleasantly, spirals of fear, of foreboding snaking unbidden through the depths of her body. _I'm not going to feel better until I know. Either way._

A gentle knock at the door startled her from her thoughts and she raised her head as a familiar figure stepped into the softly lit room, the strain of the previous few days evident across the expanse of his rugged features, the accentuated wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, traversing the breadth of his forehead. His smiled, though the expression was fleeting, flickering briefly before disappearing once more.

"Hi," Peter Boyd opened softly, his deep baritone quiet in keeping with the stillness of their surroundings, the lateness of the hour.

"Hi," Grace replied, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes absorbing the tension in his frame, the weariness pervading the depths of his expression. "Come in, Boyd."

He crossed the room towards her and dropped heavily into the chair at her bedside, his body crumpling forwards as he ran a hand roughly across his face before addressing her once more. "I wanted to come sooner, Grace, but I...."

She held up a palm to stop him, resisting the urge to touch his shoulder, his hair, his cheek. "Spence filled me in." She paused, their eyes locking together, currents of unspoken words flowing between them. "Are you alright?"

He sighed deeply, the sound rattling through the bones of his chest. "Physically. Yeah."

His lack of elaboration caused her heart to constrict, recent memories flooding her senses, and she allowed herself a moment for composure before continuing, poison coating her throat as she forced the question past her vocal chords. "And Linda?"

Boyd's expression was grim as he exhaled noisily once more. "She's alive...though if she wakes up from the coma she'll almost certainly be paralysed."

Grace reached forward to grasp his hand, an instinctive need to comfort him outweighing her lingering concerns over their boundaries. "It wasn't your fault, Peter. From what Spence told me, she damn near pulled you over with her."

He shook his head dismissively, though his fingers remained clasped with hers. "Even so...."

"Even so, nothing." Grace's voice was firm. "She was determined to end it on her terms, Boyd...."

"By proving me to be a killer?"

"....but she failed. You outsmarted her and yet again usurped her endgame; there's poetic justice in that, at least."

He blew out his breath. "Yeah, well, it might be the only justice that's forthcoming, Grace. She'll never be fit to stand trial."

Grace ran a thumb soothingly across his knuckles, the landscape achingly yet distantly familiar. "You have to let it go," she said softly, her throat constricting at the reactionary hitch in his breathing.

"She could have killed you," he intoned raggedly, his anger palpable, simmering beneath the veneer of his control.

"But she didn't." Grace sat forward, desperate to reassure him. "I'm fine, Boyd."

"It's not the point, Grace. She knew which of my buttons to push...,"

"Don't do this."

"....everything about how Luke was killed, about how Penny Cain...." He took a deep, shuddering breath, a desperate attempt to regain control despite the raw pain edging his voice, the cloying, bitter lump settling in his throat. "She used it all....and she held you up against it as a bargaining chip. I couldn't....It was an impossible choice."

"I know." Her voice was soft, comforting against the depths of his anguish. "But when it came to it you made the right one."

"You could have lost your life because of it. Because of me."

"You're not responsible. It was all Linda." She sighed, allowing her eyes to close briefly for a few seconds, trying to control the anger burning suddenly, hotly in her stomach as her thoughts progressed, the bile churning as she spoke. "With a bit of Jackie thrown in for good measure."

"Grace...."

"I made a serious error in judgement there, Boyd. She provided the way in for Linda, she was the catalyst who...."

"You confided in her professionally. You can't possibly blame yourself for that."

"Do you?"

He blinked in surprise and looked up at her, his dark eyes registering his shock, needing to be sure he had understood her. "Do I what?"

"Blame me. It'd be completely understandable."

He looked aghast. "You're not serious. Please tell me you're not."

She sighed shakily, tears prickling uncontrollably at the corners of her eyes, the words tumbling unbidden from her lips. "I feel like....I betrayed you...."

"No, Grace...."

"Well, what else would you call it?"

"I'm not going to say it again."

She shook her head, guilt flooding her chest. "Without the things I told Jackie, there was no way Linda could have known what she did about Luke. Not to that extent."

"She'd have found other ways. She was hell-bent on destroying me, Grace, by whatever means."

"But I directly set in motion a chain of events that placed you in that situation, I...."

He exhaled forcefully, frustration lapping at the periphery of his consciousness. "For Christ's sake, you didn't have a crystal ball. You trusted Jackie, there was no reason for you not to."

"What I told her, Boyd...,"

"It doesn't matter...."

"It _does_ matter. It was a professional sharing of information but it...." She broke off, sighing, the words catching as she silently debated how honest she could will herself to be.

"What?"

The sincerity of concern in his eyes was almost overwhelming and she swallowed hard, forcing the words through her larynx. "It was....it was almost like an emotional debrief. You and I weren't communicating and I desperately needed to unload everything I was feeling, to try and make some sense of it."

He held her gaze unwaveringly, despite the surge of pain in his heart at her words. "So you turned to a fellow psychologist. It's understandable."

"Well, be that as it may....I'm sorry, Boyd. I'm so sorry."

The anguish in her voice was at once too much for him and he stood quickly, only to shift his seated position to the edge of her bed, his hands grasping her shoulders to pull her roughly into his embrace, feeling her fragile body shudder as he held her against his chest, her breathing laboured as she struggled for control. He kissed the top of her head gently before settling his cheek against her hair, inhaling its jasmine scent, his fingers delicately stroking the length of her back, the contours of her body long-forgotten yet comfortingly familiar. Momentarily she pulled away, her expressive eyes bright with unshed tears, and he leaned towards her, his thumb caressing her cheek as his fingers traced the length of her jaw.

"What were you saying before, Grace? About letting go?"

"It's not that easy."

"No, it's not. Not alone, anyway."

The undertone to his words made her gasp softly but she forced her voice to remain neutral, despite the sudden pounding of her heart. "What do you mean?"

He looked at her steadily. "You know exactly what I mean."

"Peter...."

"I know there's a lot of baggage with us, Grace...."

"That's rather understating it, wouldn't you say?"

"....but I feel like I'm finally seeing it all in focus. And at this point I'm not sure whether I should be thanking Linda or wringing her fucking neck."

Grace smiled briefly, her nerves tingling as he continued his ministrations across her cheek, butterflies tickling her stomach as they skirted enthusiastically beneath her skin. "We've been doing this dance for nearly twenty years, Boyd...."

"So I'm slow on the uptake. I thought you knew that."

She sighed, the sound cutting through his attempt at levity. "I just don't think...."

"Grace...." He murmured, leaning forwards to brush his lips across hers, the merest caress of her generous mouth before he pulled away to look at her once more. "I don't want to get through this alone. And there's no way I'll let you do it either."

She felt her body tremble at his long-awaited admission, her breath coming in sharp gasps as she tried to formulate a response, feeling her tears spilling over onto her cheeks, running in rivers across his hand. "I can't promise you an easy future, Peter," she whispered hoarsely. "Even assuming we make it through all of this....I don't know how long my health will...."

"So we've got as long as we've got. No different to everyone else on the planet, Grace."

"I don't want you to waste your life on me...."

"That's not your decision to make." His voice was firm, determination lacing his tone, despite the pain arcing through his chest at the dejected resignation of her words.

"You could be sentencing yourself to a lifetime of misery, Boyd. Being with someone who's ill can be soul destroying...." She broke off, sighing. "I've been there, remember? I know what it's like to live with those kinds of pressures."

"That was different."

"How?"

"Because I'm making an active choice, whatever the consequences. When you married Jack he was well, with no thoughts on the horizon of...."

"Right. And look how I handled it once things got difficult."

He sighed at the guilt that flashed through her sapphire eyes, the cloud of self-loathing that had settled about her shoulders. "Look, Grace....the bottom line here is...."

"Is what? That you want to play the knight in shining armour after all these years?"

He rolled his eyes. "Come _on_. What do you take me for?"

"I don't need to be rescued, Peter. And I certainly don't need your pity."

He stared at her incredulously. "You don't honestly think that's what this is all about?"

"I've managed on my own for a long time...."

"So have I. And we've both been unhappy."

"Shared trauma is no basis for a relationship, Boyd. I want to be quite clear on that."

He leant forward intensely. "So, what would be, then? Tell me that."

She laughed mirthlessly. "Oh, I don't know. An uncomplicated history? A deeply respectful and consistent friendship? A...?"

"What about the simple fact that I've been in love with you for the better part of twenty years? Would that cut it, do you think?"

His words were spoken with such quiet and forthright honesty, his dark eyes smouldering with sincerity, that Grace felt the breath leave her body in a sudden rush, shock pervading every inch of her being, her mind refusing to believe the sentiments she could feel echoing around the bones of her skull as his question replayed in a constant loop against her senses. "You....Peter...."

"What's it to be, Grace?"

She opened her mouth to answer him, twenty years of churning emotion passing between them in a single instant as their eyes connected; two decades' worth of friendship, of longing, of bitter regret inextricably mixed with a complicated myriad of something deeper, something almost intangible, something beyond the grasp of coherent thought, of sensible reason. _I owe this to both of us...._Steeling herself, Grace took a shaking breath and began to speak.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer, Pairing, Content & Rating**: See chapter 1.

**A/N**: Thanks so much for all your lovely comments on the first chapter, I'm really glad you liked it! I hate to leave you hanging but we're now going to skip back in time a bit to set the scene in terms of each characters' history....

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**1983 – Grace**

Grace sank wearily onto her bed, exhaustion coating every nerve ending in her body as she closed her eyes, her hand straying to her neck to massage her aching muscles, wincing with discomfort as she acknowledged the extent of her tension.

"Everything alright?"

At her side, Jack spoke softly, the timbre of his voice gentle so as not to disturb the stirring infant lying cradled in his arms.

Grace gave him a weak smile as she settled beside him. "I think we need a bigger house," she said tiredly.

Her husband groaned. "They're not fighting _again_?"

"Their room's too small for both of them, Jack; it has been for a while."

"When I was their age...."

Grace held up a palm to halt him mid-flow. "I know. There were three of you sharing a room a tenth the size of Gina and Nick's."

Jack rolled his eyes good naturedly. "Have I ever said a tenth?"

"Cut me some slack. I just had to referee World War Three in there between your children."

He looked amused. "_My _children?"

"When they're squabbling like that, they're your children, Jack; I thought that was the deal?"

"I certainly don't remember it in my wedding vows...."

She smiled fondly, watching him as he rose from the bed to settle their daughter into her cot. "I'm serious, you know. We're going to need to move, sooner rather than later."

Jack sighed heavily as he reclaimed his position beside her. "We've been through this, Grace. It's just not financially viable."

"It could be." She looked at him steadily, aware that in all likelihood she was about to precipitate an argument. "If I went back to work."

His determined gaze met hers. "I thought we agreed you'd take twelve months; it's barely been six."

"I just don't think it's fair on Gina and Nick, cramped together in that little room, I...."

"Are you sure that's all it is?"

She viewed him through suddenly narrowed eyes. "What do you mean?"

"Are you sure you're not just itching to dust off the Ph.D again?"

"Is there anything wrong with that?"

He shrugged. "No. Just don't pretend you're a hundred percent focussed on the kids, that's all. At least be honest with me."

Grace rose abruptly from the bed and walked to the door, gesturing for him to follow suit. "If we're going to talk about this, Jack, we need to do it downstairs."

"You're assuming we won't be able to do it without arguing."

"Six years being married to you, I'm basing it on experience."

Sighing in resignation, Jack followed his wife from the room, neither speaking again until they had reached the living room, Grace closing the door gently behind them.

"I know you think I'm some kind of misogynist," Jack opened, his eyes tracing her movements as she took a seat on the couch, her hands folding serenely in her lap. "'A woman's place is in the home' and all that."

Grace raised an eyebrow. "Did I say that?"

"You didn't have to. I know you've always thought that about me."

"I know we both want what's best for the children."

"And what's best for them is you, being there to raise them."

"I _will_ be there to raise them. I haven't worked for five years, Jack."

"Through choice. And not just mine."

"I know that."

"I know that some of it was out of guilt."

"Don't...."

"You want to try and prove yourself to be super-mum after...."

"Please don't."

Pain flooded her chest suddenly, bitter memories of cold hospital lights, featureless sterile walls, fear and doubt gripping her heart as the procedure that would tear the fledgling child from her body was begun. _Eight years ago....and it feels like yesterday....Oh God, I wish.... _

"Christ, I'm sorry." Jack had taken a seat at her side, his hand reaching out to grasp hers, regret flashing through his dark eyes. "I don't mean to rake all that back up again."

Grace swallowed hard, forcing the perpetual guilt back to the depths of her subconscious and she took a deep breath before addressing him decisively. "I'm not talking about going back full time, Jack. I'm pretty sure I could convince Broadmoor to take me back on a part-time basis. Plus there's always the possibility of consultancy."

"For the Police?"

She ignored the suddenly hardened edge to his voice. "Yeah. The money's good and I can do it on my terms. It just might mean a bit of...juggling, that's all."

"You mean I might have to be flexible."

"I mean we might both have to be. And we'd have to investigate our child care options, especially for Beth."

He smiled grudgingly. "I suppose I could always ask my mother."

Grace gave him a withering look. "That could be construed as grounds for divorce."

"Are you saying my mother's not good enough to look after our children?"

She rolled her eyes, ignoring his broadening, teasing grin. "I'm saying we have vastly different views on child-rearing...."

"Seriously, Grace. I'm sure she'd love to do it."

She looked at him, trying to gauge his sincerity. "What are you saying, Jack? That you support my idea about going back to work?"

Jack sighed, the levity between them suddenly dissipating as he leant back against the sofa cushions and folded his arms. "It rather sounds as though you've made up your mind already."

Grace eyed him unwaveringly, perseverance lacing the edge of her voice as she spoke. "I just think it's something I need to do....and you can't deny that the money would be useful."

"We've managed alright on my salary, haven't we?"

"Yeah, 'managed' being the operative word." She sighed wearily. "Look, the bottom line is that, my sense of self-worth aside, we need a bigger house for the children. We can't have Gina and Nick sharing a room forever."

"So your sense of self-worth is defined by working, is that it? You're not fulfilled enough by motherhood?"

"It's...it's a different kind of fulfillment...."

"Why can't you do Avon or something? That would bring in extra money and it'd fit in better round the kids...."

Grace felt her carefully controlled patience evaporate rapidly. "For God's sake, Jack...."

"What? I thought we were having a frank discussion here, I'm just telling you how I feel."

"You know how bloody hard I worked to get where I was with my career, how much I sacrificed!"

"And is that our kids' problem? Should they lose out on spending time with you just because you value your precious career above everything else?"

She stared at him incredulously, unable to reconcile the person before her eyes with her husband of six years. "Please tell me you're not seriously going down that road."

"You said it yourself, Grace; you define yourself by your work, you...."

"To imply I value it above everything else is just insulting and you know it. You and the kids are my top priority but I'm not going to apologise for wanting to contribute to their future by doing something I love, something that I've trained for."

"I just think..."

"Imagine if our roles were reversed and I was asking you to permanently give up on your career and do something else just to bring money in. Imagine how you'd feel."

He sighed, guilt settling in his chest at the strangled hitch in her voice. "Grace...."

"I need to do this, Jack. I just wish I could do it with your support, that's all."

Jack ran a hand across his face, frustration evident in his posture. "I need some time to think, Grace, alright?"

"About what?"

"About everything. Can we talk about it again in the morning?"

Grace sighed heavily, holding up her palms towards him in resignation. "Fine."

"I just think we need to sleep on it."

"Fine, Jack."

He rolled his eyes, exhaling noisily. "Oh Christ, when you say it like that I know you're going to hold it against me in the long run."

Grace took a breath to reply, anger bubbling wildly in her stomach, but was interrupted by the insistent sound of her daughter crying forlornly from the room above, the baby's distress pulling instantly at her heart, and she moved to stand, forcing her discomfort to the pit of her stomach as she did so. Jack's hand laid gently on her arm prevented her movement and she looked at him quizzically.

"I'll go," he said softly rising from the couch and moving towards the door, his shoulders hunched with pent-up tension as he walked from the room without a backwards glance.

Grace released her breath, the air leaving her lungs in a sudden rush as she fell back against the cushions, a mixture of irritation and guilt crushing her chest, wrenching at her soul. _God, is he right?_ She thought anxiously, frowning as tendrils of doubt began to wrap themselves about her thoughts. _Am I being completely selfish? How can I even think about going back to that kind of work again with three small children? Or is he being totally unreasonable in trying to stop me? Oh, God, this could seriously test our marriage to breaking point.... _Blinking back anguished tears, Grace rose instinctively as she heard her son calling for her, swallowing the myriad of emotions as they played incessantly through her mind.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer, Pairing, Content & Rating**: See chapter 1.

**Spoiler**: Series 5, 'Black Run'.

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**1983 – Boyd**

_Five thousand pounds. Jesus Christ._ For the tenth time in as many minutes, Peter Boyd anxiously patted the pocket of his jacket, his fingers tracing the crisp edges of the envelope that lay within, the innocent receptacle concealing more currency than he had ever before had access to in his life. _And every note of it dirty_, he thought with disgust. _Every single one. What the fuck am I doing holding on to it for even a second?_ He sighed loudly, frustrated with himself, anger bubbling hotly in his stomach as he recalled the moment when his boss had handed him the envelope, aware that the notorious DI Eddie Vine was at last cutting him in on his corrupt dealings. He had taken the money unquestioningly, partly out of intimidation and partly out of a desire to belong to Vine's elite, to prove his worth as the newest member of the team. Seconds later, his moral compass had firmly reasserted itself, guilt flooding every fibre of his body and yet three days later the envelope remained firmly lodged within his jacket, the money taunting him, daring him to keep it, to put it to good use, to....

"Peter?"

Mary Boyd's soft voice startled him from his reverie and he looked up from his seated position on their living room couch, forcing a smile to his features as his wife approached.

Instantly she frowned, reading the tension in his posture, the fallacy in his bright expression. "What's the matter?"

Boyd closed his eyes briefly, resisting the urge to sigh. "Nothing's the matter. Long day at work."

"Story of our lives at the moment, isn't it?"

He ignored the bitter edge to her voice. "That's CID for you. I did explain it wasn't going to be an easy transition."

She took a seat beside him, crossing one slim leg over the other. "I know. And I know it's something you really want so I'm trying to be supportive."

Boyd gave her a sideways glance. "Why do I sense a 'but' at the end of that sentence?"

Mary smiled slightly. "I just....I feel like I never see you, that's all."

He rolled his eyes. "Come on...."

"I'm serious. We've been married less than a year, Peter, and already sometimes...you're so distant. I wish you'd talk to me."

_I can't. You'd hate me if you knew the truth about who I really am, if you knew about the evidence fixing, the corruption, the.... _"What's this really about?" he asked, aware that she had dropped her gaze, her delicate hands knotting together in her lap.

"Concern for our relationship isn't enough?"

"I didn't say that." He swallowed hard, forcing his mounting irritation to the pit of his gut. "I just get the feeling you're holding out on me."

"And since when did you become Mr. Intuition?"

"Mary...."

She held up a placating palm at the weariness in his tone. "Alright. I wanted to tell you...," She took a deep breath, anxiety and disappointment pulling at her stomach. "It was a false alarm."

Relief swam headily through his chest at her words, followed immediately by guilt as he absorbed the tears shining unshed in her emerald eyes, the tension plaguing her posture, and he reached out to take her hand. "You sure?" he asked gently.

She nodded sadly. "A hundred percent."

"It just wasn't meant to be this time...."

"Or any time, so it seems."

"We've only been trying a few months, Mary...."

"And I'm not getting any younger, Peter."

"You're twenty eight; that's hardly...."

Mary sighed. "The point is...that unless you're around a bit more, it's never going to happen. It's as simple as that."

His own sigh matched hers. "So it comes back to that, does it? The hours I'm having to keep to prove I'm serious about my career progression?"

"Don't do that. Don't try and make me feel guilty."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

"I just want to have a family, Peter; is that such a terrible thing?"

"Of course not, it's just...."

"What?"

He took a deep breath. "Do you not think it would be better to wait until my career in CID's a bit more established? Until we've got a bit more money than my DC's salary?"

"We'd manage. We'd make it work."

"How exactly?"

Mary shrugged. "I don't know....Your overtime pays well...."

Boyd barked a short laugh. "And you think you don't see me enough at the moment?"

"It would be a way of making ends meet, wouldn't it, surely?"

"Mary, think about it," he said, the increasing desperation in her voice concerning him. "Once I reach a higher rank I'll have much more say over my hours, not to mention a much higher salary. It's...it's the kind of financial stability we'll need for a child, can't you see that?"

She frowned. "Are you sure that's not just an excuse, Peter? A reason not to take on the responsibility of a baby?"

"Of course not! I want to have a child as much as you do."

"I don't believe you. I think you see a child as a burden, as an interruption to your career, to your...."

He blew out his breath. "That's ridiculous."

"Is it?"

"Of course it is. My job's important but it's not the be-all and end-all of my life."

"So, what is then? Because I sure as hell don't think our marriage is either."

"Oh, for God's sake! What do you want from me?"

"I want you to put me first for once, Peter! I want you to prioritise our marriage, our future! I want to have a baby before I'm too bloody old to do so and I want that baby to have a father that gives a shit about it!"

"You're hysterical, Mary. I can't have a conversation with you when you're like this."

Mary's expressive eyes were flashing angrily. "That's always your answer, isn't it? Accuse me of being hysterical so you can push aside the issues I want to discuss!"

"I'm just saying you're not thinking about this rationally! We haven't got the money to have a baby right now, it's as simple as that."

"I thought we were on the same page, Peter!"

"I'm only talking about postponing it for a while, that's all." He drew a heavy breath, willing calm to his bloodstream, forcing his voice to drop in volume. "Look, in a year, eighteen months, I'll be able to take my Sergeant's exams...."

"A _year_?" She shook her head vehemently. "Peter...."

"That's the quickest I can do it on the Fast Track scheme. You _know_ that."

"I don't want to wait a year, Peter. I really don't."

The despondency in her tone tore at his conscience and without thinking his fingers moved to touch the envelope burning hotly in his jacket. _I could make her happy if I kept the money....We could have a baby now....I could just tell her I won the pools or something...._ Almost as quickly he dismissed the notion. _I don't think I could ever forgive myself....but is that a sacrifice worth making to keep my marriage intact? Bloody hell...._

"Aren't you going to say anything?"

Boyd blinked rapidly, aware that she was addressing him once more, and he moved to take her hand. "There aren't any easy answers here, Mary."

Her eyes hardened suddenly and she pulled her hand sharply away. "Do you love me, Peter?"

Boyd suppressed an urge to roll his eyes. _Why do women always have to go there in an argument...?_ "Of course I do," he replied softly, hoping he was successfully injecting the sincerity he felt in his heart into his voice.

"Then _show_ me."

He looked at her incredulously. "By giving you a baby?"

"Why not?" She shrugged her slim shoulders. "It's the ultimate expression of love, isn't it?"

"Oh, come on...."

"And, besides which, if you loved me you'd want me to be happy."

Boyd felt his thin veneer of patience evaporate abruptly. "Don't start with the emotional blackmail shit, alright? You know I don't have any time for that."

"Well, what's your solution, then? How can I get through to you how desperately I want this?"

"You _have_ got it through to me. I'm just trying to make you see the other side of the coin."

"I still think you're just making excuses, clamouring for a reason not to do this."

Boyd blew out a frustrated breath. "I'm not going round this loop again, Mary. You're not listening to a word I'm saying."

He stood up quickly, pacing to the door, his nerves crackling beneath his skin as he felt a sudden, powerful urge to put some distance between them.

"What will you do now, Peter?" Mary spat up at him, venom coating her words. "Withold sex? I give you two days before you're crawling back gagging for it...."

"Oh, stop it, will you? That's pathetic."

"Or will you be so engrossed in your work I won't see you for a week so you won't have to face me?"

"I'm going out," he announced flatly, unable to stop himself from slamming the door behind him, his heart pounding, the blood pumping in his ears so loudly he could no longer hear her poisoned shouting. Once at his car he slumped against the door, his body crumpling as he lit a cigarette, drawing the blissful narcotic deep into his lungs as he desperately craved a balm for his anger, a counterpoint to his irritation. _Shit_, he thought angrily. _Why does every argument end in me running out the door? Because I don't want to face the truth of what she says to me? Because when she talks about me being afraid of responsibility I'm worried that maybe she's right?_ He exhaled at length after taking another grateful drag, the smoke circling through his body in intoxicating spirals. _Christ, I could make this so simple; keep the money, keep doing Vine's dirty work, keep the extras flowing in....I can't....but it would make her happy. Oh God, I just need a few more days to think about this, just a few more days...._


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer, Pairing, Content & Rating**: See chapter 1.

**A/N**: This chapter involves Grace and Jack being thrust into the terrifying world of a horrible illness; I don't have personal experience of this particular illness so I'm basing it on what I've researched...and I therefore apologise in advance if I've got it wrong, especially if anyone has been touched by it (or something similar) in any way. On a different topic, I refer to Grace and Jack as Mr and Mrs Sutton in this chapter; I think Grace would have retained the (what I have presumed to be her maiden) name of Foley for professional purposes only, since she obtained her PhD before marrying.

Thanks so much for all of your comments on the fic so far, I'm really enjoying writing it so I'm glad you're enjoying reading it! x

* * *

**1985 – Grace**

Jack gripped her hand tightly as they walked nervously down the long, cheerfully lit hospital corridor, Grace forcing her lips into an encouraging smile, desperately hoping she was concealing the terror that was tearing at her chest. For six months her husband's behaviour had become increasingly erratic, his mood swings violent, his attention span and patience with her and with the children almost non-existent; coupled with the debilitating headaches, Grace had finally convinced him to see a doctor, who had referred him to a specialist. The consultant had called them the previous day wanting to see them to discuss the test results and now as they approached his office, Grace could feel her heart beginning to pound, sweat tricking uncomfortably across her skin beneath her clothes. At her side she heard Jack take a deep, shuddering breath as he turned towards her.

"Grace..."

She stretched up to kiss him tenderly, reassuringly on the mouth, a brief brushing of their lips to silence his words, to pre-empt his negativity. "Whatever happens, Jack...it'll be fine."

"I think we both know what he's going to say in there."

"We don't know anything yet. Let's try and keep positive, eh?"

She knocked rapidly on the solid oak door to their right, her demeanour confident, contrary to the sickening dread swirling uncontrollably in her stomach. The deep baritone of the room's occupant bade them enter moments later and Grace found herself in a pleasantly cool office, the doctor rising to his feet from behind a wide desk to shake their hands.

"Mr and Mrs Sutton? I'm Dr Kiernan; won't you sit down?"

Jack nodded silently, tersely, grasping Grace's hand ever more tightly as they took the proffered seats, his body coiling into a taut spring of tension, lightning bolts of pain shooting across his neck, his shoulders, his back in anticipation of the doctor's words.

"Okay," the consultant opened without preliminaries, his dark eyes grave as he reached into the folder in front of him. "I've got the results here from your MRI, with and without the dye contrast...and I'm afraid it's not good news."

Grace nodded numbly, every effort focussed on preventing herself from trembling as she listened to the older man speak, his soothing voice sounding distant, as if she were floating serenely above the room, watching the scene below her play out devastatingly for its characters.

"So, what is it?" Jack was asking, clearing his throat as the words cloyed in his distress. "A brain tumour?"

Kiernan nodded. "We'll need to do a biopsy to be absolutely sure but it's mostly likely a Grade Three or Four astrocytoma..."

"Is it malignant?" Grace asked quietly, unable to raise her voice above a strangled whisper, her body paralysed with shock.

"Well, as I said, we'll need a biopsy to confirm the pathology but...yes, if it's an astrocytoma, it's most definitely malignant."

_Oh, Christ... _"And is it operable?"

The doctor smiled warmly. "Well, that's the good news, Mrs Sutton; from the tumour's position it seems likely we'll be able to de-bulk most of it. We'll schedule the surgery in as soon as possible and see what we see once we get in there."

Jack eyed the medic squarely. "What happens to the stuff you can't...what was the term you used? 'De-bulk'?"

"With astrocytoma, Mr Sutton, it's hard to guarantee being able to remove all of it. After you've recovered from the surgery, the rest of it can hopefully be treated with radio- and chemotherapy...which of course come with their own side effects. But I'm confident these can be managed with medication." Kiernan paused for breath, sympathy tugging at his heart as he observed the increasingly pale couple sitting before him, fear etched into every contour of their faces. "The surgery itself is a very delicate procedure; the tumour is located near to the part of the brain that controls behaviour and it's possible this could be unavoidably damaged further by the operation..."

"Meaning my behaviour's likely to get worse?" Jack asked softly, unable to meet Grace's gaze as he felt her stiffen beside him.

"Nothing's certain, Mr Sutton, but yes, it's certainly possible. I notice from your notes that you've already had some behavioural disturbances, mood swings, violent episodes; is that right?"

Grace closed her eyes briefly at the doctor's question, her skin smarting against her clothes at the memory of her husband's hands gripping aggressively at her arms, pinning her roughly against the wall in anger, her shocked gasp of pain as his palm connected with her cheek. The incident had shaken her to the core, had terrified her to the depths of her being; she had known Jack Sutton for thirteen years, and throughout their friendship during their post-graduate student days and their subsequent marriage she had never once considered the possibility of physical violence between them. Jack was gentle and calm, relaxed and even-tempered, a complement to her own personality, and his sudden aggression had made her question everything she had previously held as certainty. _Oh, God, and it's going to get __**worse**__...? _With determination she pushed the thought resolutely away, steeling herself for the task ahead. _I can handle it_, she told herself firmly. _I __**have**__ to handle it..._

"What's the prognosis, Doctor?" Jack's voice was flat as it brought her back to the present, a monotone encased in a thick blanket of fear, of trepidation. Grace reached instinctively for his hand, their shaking fingers interlacing as they clung to each other for support.

"It's hard to say," Kiernan replied gently, leaning forwards across his desk. "The statistics are varied..."

"On average?"

"On average, with treatment...two to three years."

Grace felt a sharp gasp escape her lips unbidden, distress washing over her in waves, bile rising bitterly into her throat. _Two years...He'll be thirty eight...The kids...the kids will be nine, seven and four...Oh, Jesus, this can't be happening..._

"But bear in mind that's very much just a mean figure," Kiernan was adding, compassion shimmering in his dark eyes. "The location of your tumour means it's eminently operable, even if it grows back after treatment."

"And that's likely?" Jack inquired quietly, his broad shoulders compressed with tension.

"Unfortunately, yes." The doctor sighed. "I won't like to you, Mr Sutton; chances are you've got a rough time ahead of you but there _are_ long-term survivors of this type of cancer and there are new treatments being developed all the time. It's by no means impossible or even improbable, for that matter that you'll beat the odds, and age is most definitely on your side."

There was silence in the room then as the couple absorbed the medic's words, each painfully aware of the sudden shift in the path of their lives, the challenge of the uncertain future that they faced. Grace took a deep breath before speaking again.

"So, what's the next step, Doctor?" she asked softly. "How soon can you schedule the surgery in?"

Kiernan reached for his paperwork and diary, consulting both before looking up once more. "I think we need to get moving on this pretty quickly so I'm going to book you in for this time next week, Mr Sutton. Then, once the operation's done, we'll know much more where we stand and how to proceed from there."

Jack gave a small nod. "Alright."

"In the meantime, if you have any worries or concerns, or any other questions, please don't hesitate to call me. I'm more than happy to help in any way that I can."

"Thank you," Grace whispered, the man's gentle compassion almost more than she could bear, the lump in her throat achingly constrictive as she and Jack rose to their feet, plastering grateful smiles to their faces as the doctor showed them to the door.

"I know it sounds trite but you must try and stay positive," Kiernan said, as a parting gesture. "The patients who do best tend to be those whose mindset is upbeat, right from the start."

Jack smiled grimly. "I'll try and keep that in mind, Doctor."

"You'll get a telephone call confirming the date and time of your surgery in due course but in the meantime...my advice would be to stay away from researching your condition yourself." He held up a hand as Grace took a breath to speak. "I know it's tempting but I think at this stage it'll just increase your fear and uncertainty. This is one of the leading hospitals for brain cancer in the country; I can assure you, you'll receive the highest level of care."

"I'm sure. Thank you, Doctor." Jack shook the older man's hand firmly before he and Grace exited the room.

Wordlessly they moved along the corridor, their bodies almost gliding weightlessly as they walked swiftly past closed doors and atmospheric wall hangings, neither daring to speak until they reached the car park and had closed the car doors quietly to the chaos of the outside world. Grace became aware that her husband was violently shaking, his whole body convulsing with terror as she blinked her gaze towards him, her heart contracting instantly with empathetic sorrow, her own hands trembling as she reached across to pull him roughly into her embrace.

"We can get through this, Jack," she mumbled into his hair as he buried his head in her shoulder, her hands stroking his back soothingly, tenderly.

"I'm dying, Grace," he replied hoarsely, the words brittle and jolting as he rasped them against her body, his breath coming in heaving gasps as he battled for control over his rapidly spiralling emotions. "I'm dying..."

"That's not what the Doctor said, is it?" she challenged gently, cupping his rugged face between her delicate palms as he pulled away, the pads of her thumbs massaging loving circles across his cheeks. "He said we've got to keep positive, that you've got a real chance of beating it..."

Jack laughed derisively, the sound harsh and abrasive in the stillness. "Two to three years. With treatment, Grace. Makes me wonder if it's worth it."

Grace felt the impact of his words like a blow to the stomach. "Don't say that. Don't you dare."

"Why not? The treatments are likely to be hell and if I'm only going to get two years out of it..."

She took a breath, aware of the desperation creeping into her voice as she spoke. "The Doctor said you've got a lot on your side, Jack; the location of the tumour, your age...Two years could be an excessively conservative estimate when you take those things into consideration."

"And you don't think he was just trying to make me feel better?"

"Why would he do that? What could possibly be gained by providing false hope?"

Jack sighed noisily. "I don't know, I..."

"He was being honest, Jack, giving us both sides."

"I don't know if I can do this, Grace..."

She stroked his face once more, leaning forward to kiss him softly. "I know it's scary..."

"It's more than scary. I feel completely paralysed by it, like I can't think properly. Like someone has quite literally blown my nice life out of the water."

"I know. I feel the same."

"Oh, Christ...how the hell are we going to tell the kids?"

The anguish lancing across his voice tore roughly at her chest and she bit back a sob, desperate not to add to his misery. "We'll just..." _God, I don't know_, she thought desolately as she fought the rising panic in her body, the tears that were threatening to overwhelm her.

"I don't want them to know how bad it is," he rasped throatily as he reached across to grasp her hand firmly. "Promise me you won't tell them, Grace."

Grace felt her mouth fall open. "We have to tell them you're ill, Jack..."

"I don't want them to know I could be dying."

"Alright. But they need to know it's serious; their lives are going to change too, not just ours."

"I'd understand if you wanted to take them and leave me. I really would."

Grace stifled a horrified gasp at the distraught finality to his words, unable to stop the tears she had held firmly in check from spilling over onto her cheeks. "If that's your attempt at a joke, Jack Sutton, it's a bloody piss-poor one."

"I'm serious, I..."

"You're my husband, the children's father." She took a deep, shuddering breath. "And that's the end of this discussion."

"Grace..."

"I mean it, Jack. We're not going anywhere so you'd better get used to it and never mention such a fucking stupid idea again."

The vehemence in her tone, the uncharacteristic expletive tumbling from her mouth warmed his heart instantly and despite the dark shadow pervading across his shoulders, he found himself smiling. "Alright, Doctor Foley. Whatever you say."

"Good. Now let's go home, eh? I need to start thinking about dinner."

_Because I suppose normal life has to carry on, brain cancer or no brain cancer..._ He nodded silently, allowing his head to fall back against the headrest and his eyes to close, trying desperately to stop his mind from racing as Grace turned the key in the ignition.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer, Pairing, Content & Rating**: See chapter 1.

**A/N**: Apologies for taking so long to get this next chapter written, I've been madly trying to wrap things up at work before my maternity leave! Now I'm off, I should have a little bit more time...at least until the baby's born (3 weeks and counting!) then I'm guessing I won't understand the concept of 'free' time for a few years! Anyways, hope you enjoy.

* * *

**1985 – Boyd**

Mary Boyd grimaced in pain, her face contorting as another contraction seared through her abdomen and ripped through her uterus. She had been in labour for several hours, the pain becoming increasingly more severe as the time passed, and she had to remind herself firmly at regular intervals to keep breathing steadily, to focus on the sensation of the air rolling in and out of her lungs in an attempt to calm the rising panic in her chest. Sighing, she released the last of her breath as the contraction began to abate and she turned her eyes to the clock on the table beside her. _Come on, Peter..._

"It's no good looking at that again." The curt voice of her mother sounded irritable from the chair at Mary's bedside. "He's not coming."

Mary sighed once more, desperate to suppress the sickening sensation of dread in her stomach, the anxiety flickering in her chest. "He'll be here, Mother," she said quietly, more to reassure herself than to convince the older woman. "He wouldn't miss it, he..."

"So, where the bloody hell is he, then? The hospital's been trying him for hours."

"He's got his Sergeant's exams today, remember? He must still be in the middle of them."

"And they're more important than attending the birth of his child, are they?" Margaret Hanson blew out a hot breath. "Honestly, Mary, that man has no idea about priorities, about responsibility, about..."

"Don't be ridiculous..."

"I warned you of this when you married him. These career coppers, they're all about the job, everything else takes a back seat."

"He's ambitious, Mother. There's nothing wrong with that, not when he's trying to build a secure future for me and this baby."

"And that's what you think he's doing, do you? Nothing to do with furthering the development of his already over-inflated ego?"

"Mother, please..."

Margaret held up her palms. "I'm just saying."

"Well, don't, okay? I'm sure if the doctors can't get hold of him there'll be a good reason."

The older woman leant forward and took her daughter's hand gently, the volume of her voice dropping, compassion for her daughter filling her chest as she watched the doubt radiate through her emerald eyes. "Why do you always insist on defending him, love?"

The younger woman sighed. "Because he's my husband, because he..."

"He's abandoned you when you need him most, Mary. Good reason or not, I'm not sure I can forgive him for that."

Mary looked steadily at her mother, determined to finish the conversation on her own terms before the inevitable disorientation of yet another contraction. "It's not up to you to forgive him. I made my choice when I married him, Mother, and whatever happens, I'm sticking to that. Alright?"

Margaret sighed. "I just don't want to see you get hurt, that's all."

"I know. But he's _my_ husband and if anyone's going to get pissed off with him it should be me." She winced as the onslaught of pain began building once more in her belly. "Now, if you really want to help, you'll stop talking and let me squeeze your hand to breaking point..."

Mary's fingers tightened about her mother's then, her vocal defence of her absent husband fading into oblivion as wave after wave of agony assaulted her senses, robbing her of her ability to reason, to rationalise, to think. _If he ever makes it here, I'm going to fucking kill him myself_, she mused angrily. _It's as simple as that_.

* * *

Boyd released his breath in a sudden rush as he stepped from the oppressively silent room, relief flooding his senses as he passed a weary hand across his face. It had been several years since he had last sat a formal exam, the crushing anxiety a distant memory, which had come thundering back into his consciousness as soon as he had stepped over the threshold to the room. Coupled with a gruelling two hour panel interview prior to the event, Boyd was summarily glad to have completed both relatively unscathed and now he began to pace hurriedly down the corridor, his mind focussing suddenly on Mary and the telephone message he had received many hours previously. Guilt swam headily in his stomach as he recalled his reaction upon being given the news...

"_I'm terribly sorry to interrupt, Superintendent, but I've got an urgent message for DC Boyd..." WPC Jennings' sleek blond head appeared around the door to the interview room, her soft voice addressing DSI Willis, who frowned darkly before beckoning her inside._

"_Well, make it quick, Constable. I'm sure DC Boyd doesn't want to be distracted in the middle of his interview."_

_Nodding briskly, her pale cheeks colouring, Jennings approached Boyd and bent to deliver her message, sotto voce, the seriousness in her eyes causing Boyd's pulse to quicken. "Sir, I've just been on the phone with St. Thomas' hospital..."_

"_Is it my wife?" Despite his attempt at composure, the question caught uncomfortably against his larynx._

"_Yes, sir. She's in labour and she's asking for you."_

_Oh, shit, not now...Jesus Christ, talk about the worst possible timing... "Right...thanks."_

"_Do you want me to tell them you're on your way?"_

_Boyd closed his eyes briefly, the agony of his decision pressing against his chest, waves of guilt already lapping at his mind as the inevitable solution began to form behind his eyes. I can't fuck this up, he thought desperately, I just can't. Too much is riding on it...and the labour's bound to take hours, I'm sure I can still make it before the baby's born...Christ, I just hope she forgives me..._

"_Some problem, Boyd?" Willis' clipped voice sounded from the front of the room and Boyd opened his eyes to stare unwaveringly into the hard grey orbs of his superior, his voice deceptively calm as he answered._

"_No, sir. None at all."_

"_Good. Shall we continue, then?"_

_Boyd cleared his throat in preparation for the next round of questions, studiously ignoring the aghast expression on the female officer's face as she made her way hastily from the room, her head shaking in disbelief at his reaction to her message..._

Boyd swallowed hard at the memory, forcing his discomfort to the pit of his stomach as he made his way along the corridor and towards the Duty Sergeant's station, to where he knew there was a phone. _Shit, I should've gone straight after the interview_, he thought harshly, berating himself harder with every step, the blood pounding against his skull as his thoughts darkened. _I should've put off the exam and rushed straight to her bedside..._

"Boyd?"

Boyd turned at the sound of his name being called, frowning as he absorbed the grave expression on DI Simon Moreton's face, the grey tinge to his complexion, the tense hunch crippling his broad shoulders as he approached.

"Sir?"

"We've got a break, Boyd. Surveillance teams have just called it in."

Boyd raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Have they made any arrests?"

The older man grinned. "I told them to hold back. I thought you'd want to be the one to bring them in."

Boyd suppressed a heavy sigh, an irritating headache forming resolutely behind his eyes. "I appreciate the gesture, sir, but I..."

Moreton continued, seemingly oblivious to his subordinate officer's discomfort. "I mean, since you've spent the past six months working on the case and closing the net around this gang, I thought you'd want to be there to finish it; to see the fruits of your labour, so to speak."

_Oh, Christ, fruits of my labour? And miss the fruits of hers?_ "Sir..."

"I don't have to tell you how good it'll look for your promotion efforts, Boyd; nailing a high profile criminal gang on the same day you sit your Boards."

_Shit...he's right...I don't really have a choice...God, Mary, I swear I'll make it up to you, to both of you... _He nodded decisively, mentally squaring his shoulders against the onslaught of inevitable regret, of searing guilt as he followed his boss down the corridor and towards the car park.

* * *

Boyd rushed anxiously through the artificial sodium light of the hospital corridor, desperately trying to recall the directions he had been given at the front desk for the location of the labour ward. _She's going to absolutely fucking kill me_, he thought morosely as he paused to check an intricate floor plan. _Not that I can blame her; I'm a complete and utter bastard_. It had been more than ten hours since he had first received the message during his interview, ten hours since he had set in motion a series of decisions not to attend the labour and the spiralling guilt which had been plaguing him, despite the distractions of his exam and the subsequent high octane arrests, had returned with a forceful vengeance the second he had set foot inside the sterility of the hospital environment. The remorse he felt was so overwhelming he had almost turned around and walked back out again, convinced he had left it far too late, that Mary would have no inclination to have him with her, but he had forced himself to approach the reception station, his fingers gripping the stalks of the fragrant roses wrapped delicately in pale cellophane. His eyes fell upon the sign for the maternity ward then and he took a deep breath, his heart pounding enthusiastically against his rib cage as he approached the senior nurse, her sharply angled form bent in concentration about her desk.

Boyd cleared his throat, pushing away the remainder of his doubts. "Excuse me, I'm...here to see Mary Boyd."

The nurse looked up, her coolly intense blue eyes surveying him critically before she replied. "And you'd be the husband, I take it?"

"Guilty as charged."

"Good of you to finally make an appearance."

Boyd felt himself bristle, his tongue forming the retort before he could stop it. "And what business is it of yours?"

"Only that we care about the well-being of our patients; Mary's been screaming for you for the past three hours."

"I was..."

"Saving someone's life, no doubt? Pulling someone from a burning building?"

He looked at her evenly, ignoring the sarcasm dripping from her throat. "Look, I'm going to get this from my wife, alright?"

"Yes, you are, and rightly so. But I don't think it'll do you any harm to hear it from me as well. She could really have done with your support."

"Just tell me where she is."

The nurse sighed, relenting beneath the brusqueness of his tone. "She's on the post-natal ward."

Boyd felt his mouth fall open, the blood draining from his face as he struggled to take in the words. "_Post_?"

"The baby was born an hour ago."

"Is it...is she...?"

"They're both fine. Third bed along from the left."

Wordlessly he made his way into the room, the incessant wail of crying infants, the bustling of hospital staff as they rushed between stations fading into the background as he approached the location he had been given. Mary blinked up at him as he approached, her delicate face pale and drawn, her dark hair matted against her slender neck. His breath caught in his chest at the sight of the tiny baby nestled closely in her arms, the soft pink face peeking peacefully from beneath the confines of the cerulean blanket. _Oh my God..._

"Mary..." He whispered her name as he reached her side, sinking onto the bed beside her, the flowers in his hand falling forgotten onto the covers.

"Meet your son, Peter," she said gently, pulling back the blanket to reveal more of the baby's face, smiling fondly as he grimaced briefly in his sleep before relaxing once more. "I decided on Joseph Luke, in the end."

Boyd reached out to stroke the baby's cheek tenderly, warmth filling his chest at the velvet softness of his skin. "What happened to Michael?"

Mary's expression hardened, her eyes beginning to swirl with anger. "Michael was your favourite name, Peter, not mine; and since you couldn't even be bothered to get here for the birth..."

"Mary..."

"...I figured you no longer wanted any say over the name either."

Boyd closed his eyes briefly in preparation for the inevitable onslaught. "I'm sorry."

She laughed mirthlessly. "And you think that'll cut it, do you?"

"I don't know what else to say."

"You missed the most important day of our lives, Peter, and presumably because of your precious _work_." She spat the final word venomously, the poison immediately scoring through his veins.

"I'm not trying to make excuses. I know I should've been here..."

"But?"

"I had my interview and then my exam..."

"And they took ten hours, did they? Give me strength!"

He leant forward earnestly, desperate to rationalise his absence, to force her to understand. "I made the most significant arrest of my career today, Mary. It'll practically guarantee me a Sergeant's rank and my pick of the squads in CID."

"I don't give a shit..."

"It'll mean more money. It'll mean you don't have to go back to work quite so soon."

She looked at him scathingly. "So I'm supposed to thank you, is that it?"

Boyd ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "No, I just...I just want you to see that I wasn't being a completely selfish prick. It was just...unfortunate timing, that's all."

"Well, I'm sorry, Peter. I'm sorry I inconvenienced you by going into labour at an unsuitable time."

"I didn't mean..."

"Whatever. Anyway, it doesn't matter now." She shifted the baby in her arms as he began to grizzle, rocking him gently to lull him back towards slumber, her barbed expression thawing as she watched him nuzzle closer to her body.

"I really am sorry, Mary."

"What's done is done, I suppose. I just hope you're not setting a precedent for the kind of father you're going to be."

"Christ, so do I..."

Mary smiled, despite herself, unable to tear her gaze away from the intoxicating view of her son. "He's beautiful, isn't he?"

Boyd felt his heart explode with happiness, warmth infusing every synapse in his body. "'Beautiful' doesn't even begin to cover it."

"I think 'perfect' would."

"I think for once we're in agreement."

Sensing a reprieve in her mood, however temporary, Boyd pulled her close against his chest, revelling in the maternal softness of her body and the sight of his newborn son cradled lovingly in the crook of her arm. _I promise I'll do my best for you_, he thought with determination. _I'm sure I'll fuck up somewhere down the road but I'll try not to let you down too much... God, I hope I can live up to that..._ Sighing softly, he pushed away the foreboding thoughts as they snaked around his mind and drew his new family ever closer towards his body.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer, Pairing, Content & Rating**: See chapter 1.

* * *

**1988 – Grace**

Grace winced at the sound of a door slamming violently in the room above her, the whole house seeming to resonate with the force of the impact. She drew in a deep breath, counting slowly to ten before rising from her chair and walking towards the kitchen, to the source of the raised voices she had overheard during the previous few minutes. Jack was pacing frustratedly as she entered, his fingers massaging his temples, the beads of perspiration lacing his brow causing concern to flicker in her chest.

"You alright?" she asked softly, frowning as his fingers continued in their ministrations of his forehead.

"Yeah, I just..." He stopped pacing to look at her, consternation creasing his features. "_She_," he breathed forcefully, gesturing upwards and sighing, "can be such a little shit sometimes."

The vehemence of his tone surprised her but she kept her voice neutral. "She's ten, Jack. Going on sixteen."

"I just wanted a bit of peace. Is it too much to ask that she keeps her music to a bearable level when she's in my house?"

Grace raised an eyebrow. "Your house?"

Jack blew out his breath. "You know what I mean."

"I know the music wasn't what I'd consider excessively loud."

"Are you trying to pick a fight with me as well?"

She sighed, willing patience to her bloodstream. "Of course not..."

"I should have known you'd take her side."

"I'm not taking anyone's side. Jack, we've been round this loop before."

"I was just asking her to be considerate, Grace. My head's bloody killing me today."

Grace felt her chest constrict. "Have you taken your medication?"

"Yeah, it's not even touching it. Makes me worry what the MRI tomorrow will show."

She walked towards her, slipping her arms about his waist, desperate to reassure him despite the anxiety pounding inside her skull. "Let's deal with one thing at a time, eh?"

Jack rolled his eyes. "So concern over my daughter's behaviour trumps concern over my health, does it? Excuse me for disagreeing with you on that score."

_God...this isn't like him...What if...?_ With determination, she pushed the dark thoughts aside, confining them to the pit of her stomach before continuing. "This is hard for her too, Jack, remember? For all of us."

"For God's sake, Grace," he snapped, his words slicing through hers as she spoke, extricating himself roughly from her arms and beginning to pace anew. "Three years I've been living with this, with no sign of a let-up; is it any wonder I lose my temper at times when the kids just don't seem to get it?"

"They're _children_..."

"I could be dying and all they care about is that I tell them to turn their fucking music down!"

Grace inhaled slowly, willing her voice to remain passive. "It's just difficult for them to grasp it all, Jack. Especially when you've been so well for so long."

"Yeah, well that could all be about to change."

"Don't say that."

"Oh, wake up, Grace."

"I mean it. You don't do any of us any favours by being negative and wallowing in self-pity."

"So, it's all about doing you lot favours, is it? And sod thinking about myself?"

Grace folded her arms defensively across her chest. "You have all day to think about yourself..."

"That's right. Pile on the guilt that you're the only one of us with a job, why don't you?"

She continued resolutely, ignoring the barbed edge to his voice. "...but when the kids come home, I expect you to shift your focus to them."

"Even if I'm feeling like shit?"

"You can still be civil. And what I heard before in here didn't sound particularly civil."

"She was goading me..."

"She's _ten_, Jack."

"She shouldn't have riled me like that..."

Grace felt the breath leave her body in a sudden rush as she absorbed the undercurrent to his words, the blood draining rapidly from her face. "Tell me you didn't hit her," she managed quietly, her eyes searching his as hope seeped from her soul.

"It was just a slap across the cheek, I..."

"Oh my God..."

Jack deflated instantly at her reaction, the naked pain in her voice, and he let out a strangled sob, his face crumpling with remorse, with the weight of his guilt. "I didn't mean to," he whispered hoarsely. "You have to believe me."

"I don't...I...Jack..."

"Oh, God, Grace, this is just like before, isn't it? The loss of temper, of control of myself...It's just like when I was first diagnosed. The tumour must have come back, it..."

Grace swallowed hard, instinctive anger bubbling beneath her skin even as she tried desperately to quell it with rational thought. _It's not him_, she reminded herself firmly. _He would never do that...Oh, Christ, he's right. It must be a recurrence..._

Stifling her anguish, she began to speak once more. "Hitting me is one thing, Jack..." Her voice was deceptively calm, resonating low through the bones of her chest.

"I shouldn't be doing either."

"No, you shouldn't. But I accept that the tumour, the treatments, have affected your personality. The kids, they don't understand, they..."

"They want their father back."

Grace felt as though her heart was being compressed in a vice and she suppressed the devastation swirling in her chest and rising into her throat. "They just need to not be living in constant fear of you losing your rag with them. And they certainly don't need to be in an environment where they're at risk from physical...ramifications of your temper."

Jack looked distraught. "Christ. I know."

She stepped towards him and squeezed his arm. "I think you should see someone, Jack. A psychologist."

A ghost of smile played fleetingly across his lips. "I live with a psychologist."

She ignored him. "With help you might be able to control these rages, whether they're caused by your condition or not."

He looked sceptical. "You really think it'll help?"

"I think it's worth a try." She sighed heavily. "This can't happen again, Jack. You know that."

His own sigh matched hers. "I know."

"So, I'll find someone for you, then. I'll book the first appointment and we'll go together."

He looked at her then, his eyes softening with affection and gratitude. "I don't know what I'd do without you, Grace. How can you be so understanding when you're married to...to such a...?"

She pressed her fingers to his lips to silence him as he faltered, her throat constricting. "Because I love you. It's as simple as that."

"I wish this had never happened, I wish..."

"I know. But all we can do is continue to try and deal with it." She kissed him firmly. "Now go up and speak to Gina."

He heaved a deep sigh, his broad shoulders rising and falling. "I wouldn't know where to start."

"Just say you're sorry and promise her it won't ever happen again."

"And the bit about the tumour growing back?"

"We don't know anything yet, Jack..."

"I can't think of any other reason why I did it."

"And I don't want to scare the kids, or ourselves for that matter, by speculating. Just keep it simple; you know you shouldn't have done it and it was most definitely a one-off."

"I wouldn't blame you for taking them away, you know."

"So don't give me cause to. See a therapist and try and get a handle on it."

"And the cancer? Because I don't think the two things are unrelated, do you?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Now, go and talk to your daughter, will you? I know she'd appreciate it."

Jack took another breath to reply but was interrupted by the sudden ringing of the telephone, the shrill sound startling them both before Grace reacted, kissing her husband gently once more and watching him begin the slow climb up the stairs before reaching to pick up the receiver.

"Hello?"

"Doctor Foley?"

The deep voice on the other end of the line was unfamiliar and Grace frowned. "Yes?"

"This is Deputy Assistant Commissioner Christie from the Metropolitan Police; have you got a moment to talk?"

She raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the caller's identity though her attention was partially drawn by the rumble of conversation she could hear above her. "Can I ask how you got my number, Mr Christie?"

"I was given it by your superior at Broadmoor; I understand that's where you're currently employed."

"It is..."

"But I also understand that you've done consultancy work for the Met in the past, on several occasions?"

"I have."

"Quite successfully, so I've been informed. Your insights have helped put various dangerous criminals behind bars."

Her mind flew instantly to the Tony Greene case and she closed her eyes briefly, willing the return of her suddenly absent composure. "I did what I could. Most of those cases would I'm sure have been solved by detective work in the end anyway, with or without me."

"You're very modest, Doctor. Surely you must be aware that your reputation precedes you."

"Are you wanting to employ my services, is that it?"

The man sighed. "We've got a nasty serial murder case that I think would benefit from your expertise, given your experience."

"Mr Christie..."

"It's very high profile and quite frankly, Doctor, we can't afford any cock-ups. The Commissioner wants to throw the book at it and that includes the employment of a psychological profiler."

Grace drew a breath, her skin tingling at the prospect of working for the Police again, despite the rebuttal of her better judgement. "I work full time at Broadmoor..."

"I'm aware of that."

"So how would I be expected to...?"

"I'm sure we could come to some arrangement with your boss...if this is something you'd be interested in, of course?"

_Well, I can't deny the money would be useful...but more time away from Jack and the kids? Is that really the best thing to do right now, given the current situation? God, I don't know...I know I'd regret it if I turned it down but I..._

"Doctor?"

The policeman's voice broke her from her indecision and she sighed, still unclear in her mind as to the most appropriate course of action. "Can I think about it and get back to you?" she said eventually, wincing even as the words left her mouth.

"I need a fairly prompt decision..."

"I understand that. There are certain...domestic issues I need to resolve before I can give you a definite answer."

"But I take it you _are_ interested, Doctor?"

"Absolutely." The word had escaped her lips before she could stop it.

"I'll need a reply within the next twenty four hours."

"You'll have it."

"Excellent. I'll speak to you tomorrow, then."

Grace sank onto the chair beside her as he rang off, her mind whirling as she absent-mindedly replaced the handset. _God, can I really do this?_ She thought anxiously. _Can I really fit it in with the patients I already have, not to mention with Jack and the children?_ Sighing, she realised she had already made the decision in her heart as soon as Christie had offered her the role, her professional interest piqued to the point of being unable to ignore it. _Now I just have to try and justify it to myself_, she mused sardonically. _I guess twenty four hours will have to be time enough for that._


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer, Pairing, Content & Rating**: See chapter 1.

**Spoilers**: Series 2, 'Special Relationship'.

**A/N**: Just a warning; this chapter is a bit upsetting...that's all I'll say!

* * *

**1988 – Boyd**

Boyd stretched languidly within the soft confines of the hotel bed sheets, his body luxuriating in an indulgent post-coital afterglow, the woman in his arms sighing gently as he pressed feather-light kisses to her neck. The affair had been going on for almost four months, the secrecy and deception burning holes through his conscience if he allowed his mind to dwell on his treachery, though the guilt was more often than not sublimated by the powerful anaesthetic of sex. He had met WPC Jess Worrall six months previously when she had been seconded to CID and had been immediately attracted to her; she was feisty and outspoken, refusing to be intimidated by the jibes from some of her less than salubrious male colleagues about the presence of a woman on the team. Her fire and spark had impressed him on a professional as well as personal level, and they had begun to spend time together on the pretext of him advising her on her career path, their flirtatious banter a balm to his fractured home life. Jess had been anything but subtle in her declaration of intent as far as he was concerned and although he had initially resisted her advances, he had eventually succumbed, his body craving hers, long-suppressed yearnings for the feel of a woman beneath his hands finally catching up with him.

_If it hadn't been Jess, it would have been someone else_. His relationship with Mary had been on a steadily downward spiral since the birth of their son three years previously. Joe was not an easy child and he knew his wife had suffered from post-natal depression, a fact she had tried desperately to conceal from him. Since that time their interactions had deteriorated significantly; her constant resentment of his advancing career caused a tremendous amount of friction, as did her endless criticisms of his skills as a father, the lack of time she deemed he spent with his son, and although he tried to divide himself fairly between his responsibilities, he was also well aware of his short-comings in the domestic side of his life. The guilt was deeply embedded within his soul, perpetually reinforced by Mary's anger, and he had employed the only coping mechanism in his arsenal; withdrawal. He was painfully aware it was a vicious circle; the more they fought, the more he pulled away, thereby thickening the gulf between them but he felt ill-equipped to break the cycle and, as time went on, less inclined to do so as the mental exhaustion intensified. The physical aspect of their marriage had also been severely affected; he had stopped counting the number of months since they had last made love, since she had last allowed him to touch her at all, and it saddened him to the core of his heart. Jess' arrival in his life had allowed him an outlet for his physical frustration but there were times when he longed for the resurrection of intimacy with his wife, a notion that if they could connect on a physical level it could help to restore the fractured remnants of their marriage. _Although I'm probably just kidding myself on that score_, he mused bitterly, even as he attempted to banish all thoughts of Mary and his son to the black recesses of his mind.

Jess shifted in his arms then, moving to rise from the bed, but he caught her before she could extricate herself completely. "And where do you think you're going?" he asked throatily, his fingers splaying across the soft skin of her stomach, pinning her in place.

She turned her head to look at him. "I'm on lates at the moment, remember? I need to get up and take a shower so I don't miss the start of my shift."

He glanced at the clock on the table beside her. "You've got more than an hour, Jess."

"Yeah, well, maybe I need every second of that."

He rolled his eyes. "Come _on_."

"I'm serious."

"What, so nothing I do will convince you it's in your best interests to stay?" His hand slid lower as he spoke, his fingers tracing a sensuous path to the juncture of her thighs.

"Peter..." she breathed, her voice catching in her throat as he began to tease her mercilessly, her arousal spiralling before she managed to dampen the flames through sheer force of will, her fingers closing about his wrist to stop his ministrations. "I really need to get up."

"Yeah. You and me, both."

She looked at him scathingly. "You're incorrigible."

"Too bloody right I am."

Jess rolled away from him and got up quickly before she could succumb to the suggestive tone to his voice, the playful glint in his dark eyes. From his reclined position on the bed, he watched her as she padded about the room collecting her belongings and beginning to pull her clothes on hastily.

"So, will I see you Saturday?" he asked after several moments had passed, his eyes continuing to follow her, appreciatively roaming the curves of her body that were rapidly disappearing beneath the confines of her clothing.

She raised an eyebrow. "I thought Saturday was your day for playing happy families?"

He sighed at the slightly barbed edge to her voice. "Jess..."

"Oh, sorry. Did I burst your bubble of denial there, Inspector?"

"It's just... not straightforward. You know that."

"Yes, I do. You've given me the 'my wife doesn't understand me' speech at least a dozen times."

"I've never made you any promises..."

"And I don't want any. I'm just...getting a bit tired of having to fit in around everything else in your life, that's all."

"Don't start with that. You're just as committed to the job as I am."

"If not more so. But then I don't have to balance it with a family and a bit on the side, do I?"

He exhaled noisily. "What do you want from me, Jess?"

Jess folded her arms across her chest. "Honestly? Maybe an acknowledgment that I'm more than just a fuck buddy to you."

"Well, of course you are, you _know_ that!"

"No, I don't. You've never once opened up to me about how you feel, how you..."

"Neither have you. That's not what we do, Jess, people like you and I, and you can't pretend otherwise."

"It's self-preservation, Peter. I know you're never going to leave your family."

"Is that what you want? Really?"

She sighed heavily, picking up the last of her belongings and placing them into a bag before returning to the bed to kiss him briefly across the lips, her palm lingering on his cheek. "I'll see you on Saturday," she murmured quietly, the melancholic catch in her voice reflected in the expression in her hazel eyes.

"Jess..."

"I'll see you on Saturday," she repeated, more resolutely this time, before striding quickly across the room and out of the door, leaving him to wince as it slammed abruptly in her wake.

* * *

Boyd turned his key in the lock, mentally bracing himself for the inevitable barrage from his wife, the scolding, bitter tone to her voice, the pain flashing across the depths of her eyes. _It's nothing less than I deserve, I suppose_, he thought. _I wasn't exactly winning any husband of the year awards, even before I started seeing Jess..._

He paused as he stepped over the threshold, frowning at the sound of whimpering coming from the floor above him, the unmistakable cry of a child keening for its mother.

"Mary?" he called tentatively, the silence which greeted him causing the knot of worry in his stomach to contract further.

With trepidation he made his way up the stairs, Joe's wailing increasing in volume and Boyd followed the sound into the bathroom, his heart beginning to pound as he pushed open the door. Joe was sitting in less than three inches of bath water, his tiny body shivering with cold, his lips tinged with blue, his pale skin almost bloodless through lack of heat.

"Jesus Christ!" Boyd exclaimed loudly, striding fully into the room and lifting his son gently from the freezing water, wrapping his shuddering body into a towel and enveloping him in his arms. Joe began to cry even more intensely, his relief at having been discovered clear as he gripped his father's shirt with desperation.

"Where's Mummy?" Boyd asked hoarsely as he began to vigorously rub the child's body, an attempt to invoke some warmth into his limbs, his mind consumed with panic, half frozen with shock. "Joe?" he tried again at the lack of response, trying to keep his voice even. "Where's Mummy?"

The boy raised his head from the comforting breadth of his father's shoulder. "Don't know."

"She just put you in here then left the room?"

He nodded tearfully. "She said five minutes."

"Okay, alright." Boyd drew his son ever closer to his body, walking from the bathroom and towards the boy's bedroom. "Let's just get you warm and dry, okay? Then you can have a sleep while I find out where Mummy is."

Joe's eyes began to close sleepily, his head lolling drowsily as soon as Boyd had wrestled his limbs into his pyjamas. Momentarily Boyd laid him gently into bed, tucking the covers around him before bending to place a soft kiss against his forehead. Within seconds he had retreated from the room, anxiety pulling at his heart as he flew down the stairs, his hand reaching instinctively for the telephone before his peripheral vision caught sight of a hunched figure in the living room to his left. His mouth dry, he made his way towards her, his stomach twisting painfully as he realised she was silently sobbing, her whole body shaking as tears coursed in rivers down her face.

"Mary?" he said softly, approaching her slowly, afraid of startling her as he took a seat at her side. "Mary?"

She turned towards him then, blinking as if becoming aware of his presence for the first time and she heaved a shuddering breath. "Peter?"

"What's going on? Joe was sitting in a freezing cold bath..."

"What?"

The unadulterated horror in her voice tore at his heart but he continued with determination. "I don't know how long he...What the hell's going on, Mary?"

She began to cry once more, her body racked with her distress and instinctively he pulled her towards him, squeezing her tightly in his arms, smoothing her matted hair away from her face.

"I can't do this any more, Peter," she whispered hoarsely, the words muffled by her lips against his chest. "I can't cope."

"With what?" he asked softly.

"With everything! With our marriage the way it is, with Joe...I just...I can't..."

She heaved another desperate sob and Boyd felt his heart shatter, his throat tightening as his arms pulled her closer, his lips pressed firmly to her hair. "Oh God, Mary," he murmured. "I had no idea it was this bad, I..."

"Well, why would you? You're never here, Peter."

"I..."

"Forget it. I've tried to get through to you before and it makes no difference whatsoever."

He pulled away from her then, the pads of his thumbs tracing the path of the tears tracking down her velvet cheeks. "What's brought this on?" he asked, his brow creasing with concern.

She sighed heavily. "Nothing specific. It's just...every day is the same, Peter. A constant battle of wills with Joe. A never-ending pile of house work. A pathetic attempt to stretch our finances further. And I'm doing it all on my own."

"It's difficult for me with work, Mary. I've tried to explain that before..."

"All I ever see of you is your bloody car disappearing down the road." She broke off, inhaling slowly, an attempt to regain control over her chaotic emotions. "I know your work's important, Peter, and I appreciate that you're ambitious; I knew that when I married you, but all the same...I'm telling you I can't do this all on my own any more. It's not up for discussion."

He took a breath to reply, swallowing the ready justification of himself and his actions that always seemed to be on the tip of his tongue. "Alright," he said quietly after several moments had passed, his deep baritone reverberating through the breadth of his chest. "Alright."

Mary looked at him, her emerald eyes widening, her mouth falling open with shock. "What?"

He tried a small smile. "You heard me."

"Well, yeah, but...This is going to involve you making some serious changes, Peter, and frankly..."

"You don't think I'm capable?"

She shrugged her slender shoulders. "I honestly don't know."

"Well, surely the important thing is that I'm willing to try."

"How, though? I mean, how in practical terms do you think we can fix this?"

_By ending my affair, for one_, he thought with determination. _By re-focusing on the people I should have always been focussed on. _"I can ask for a reduction in my hours at work..."

Mary shook her head. "We need the money."

Boyd stifled a sigh. "You can't have it both ways, love..."

"How about if you just work the hours you're rostered to do?"

"What, clock in and out, you mean? It's not that kind of job, Mary."

"Other people manage it, Peter. Especially those at DI level."

"True," he conceded after several seconds, his mind filled with images of other people of his rank strolling towards the car park at the stroke of five o'clock.

"So, why can't you?"

_Because I'm committed to my work, because I wouldn't be able to walk out in the middle of a serious investigation, because I... _With effort, he stopped the spiralling justifications dead in their tracks._ Jesus. I'm making the same old excuses all over again._ "I'll try, alright? I'll try my best."

She blinked incredulously. "You really mean it?"

He leant forward to take her hand, his dark eyes radiating his sincerity. "Yeah. You and Joe are the most important things in my life and I...I don't want to lose you. I'll do whatever it takes."

At his words, Mary pulled him roughly towards her, tears of relief falling freshly onto her cheeks, dampening his shirt as she buried her head against his shoulder. Boyd's hands roamed the length of her back, stroking in soothing circles as his mind reeled. _Oh, God, I really hope I can do this_, he thought, anxiety gnawing at his chest and fraying the edges of his nerves, which he tried desperately to force away. _I have to do this. I have to get my priorities straight; end things with Jess, stop being an arrogant and self-involved prick about my work...If I don't, I could lose my family, contact with my son, everything. And I can't live with that, I'd never forgive myself._ With conviction, he solidified his plan even as pangs of doubt began to flash behind his eyes. _I'll finish it with Jess_, he thought, his heart beginning to pound uncomfortably at the concept. _First thing in the morning._


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer, Pairing, Content & Rating**: See chapter 1.

**A/N**: And so, Boyd and Grace finally get to meet...Just a quick one about police acronyms as well; OIC stands for Officer In the Case i.e., the officer responsible for the organisation of an investigation (not necessarily the most senior officer involved in the particular case but the one who has been assigned to the running of it). Hope you enjoy x

* * *

**March 1990**

Boyd scowled darkly at his reflection in the mirror, a soft groan escaping his lips as he acknowledged his haggard appearance, the faint sprinkling of grey beginning to decorate his temples, the charcoal circles deeply ingrained beneath the hollows of his eyes. _Christ, and I'm only thirty eight_, he thought despondently. _What the hell am I going to look like when I'm fifty?_ He shook his head, an attempt to clear his mind of the vain direction of his thoughts. In the two years since he had ended his relationship with Jess, he had effectively given up caring about his appearance, and he wondered fleetingly, and not for the first time, if it was a symptom of his deepening depression. He had felt the bleak cloud descend with increasing regularity over the past few months as he tried desperately to balance the demands of his job with his renewed commitment to his family. Mary, he knew, was grateful for the change in him, for his efforts to arrive home on time, for his studious focus on her and on Joe; she had seemed happier and more relaxed than he had seen her in a long time, and he was determined not to let her see the frustration that dominated many of his waking hours as he tried to walk the line. He was well aware that his career was paying the price for his family-orientated attitude; twice he had been looked over for a promotion, for the chance to become a DCI. Twice the offer had been made and although the words had cloyed thickly in his throat, twice had he turned it down. It had gone against every instinct, every fibre of his being but he knew that his acceptance of the post would lead to further arguments about his priorities, about his commitment to his wife and child; and every time he found himself questioning his decision, his mind transported him back to finding Joe shivering in the bath, to Mary's sobbing form as she struggled to cope beneath the burden of her life. _I can't let it get like that again_, he thought firmly. _I just can't_.

"Boyd?" DC Robertson's auburn head appeared around the door to the toilets, his features creased in consternation as his eyes searched briefly before focussing on their target. "The Super's called a meeting..."

Boyd forced a smile, banishing the remainder of his depressive musings to the pit of his stomach. "I'll be right out."

"Apparently it's a development in the case...although I'll believe that when I hear it, we've had no breakthroughs for weeks."

"So, it must mean we're due," Boyd replied, following the eager young man from the station bathroom and towards the double doors of the meeting room.

"I bloody hope so. All the overtime's been killing me."

Boyd blinked, wondering if he had imagined the slightly barbed tone to the junior officer's voice, the note of criticism at the lack of hours Boyd himself had devoted to the murder enquiry, despite him technically being the OIC. _Jesus, is that what they all think? That I'm some lazy part-timer who's not pulling his weight? Shit, I hope not... _The paranoid path of his thoughts was disrupted by the distinctive sound of Detective Superintendent Morrison clearing his throat at the front of the room and Boyd looked up as he took a seat, noticing for the first time the presence of another, unfamiliar person at his boss' side, a petite woman of about Boyd's own age.

"Morning all," the DSI began, frowning slightly at the unenthusiastic response of his squad, many of whom were slumped in their chairs sipping coffee, their collective despondency clearly visible in their body language. "I know we've had a tough few weeks on the Carlton, Brooks and Kidson murders..."

"That's an understatement, sir," Robertson replied glumly, passing a hand across his face. "The press have made it almost impossible for us to conduct a proper investigation, plus there's..."

Morrison held up a hand. "I'm well aware of the difficulties you've all faced, gentlemen. Which is why the Commissioner has seen fit to equip us with a new resource, an initiative which has had some success in dealing with cases like this one." He gestured to the woman standing to his right. "I'd like to introduce Doctor Grace Foley. She's a behavioural profiler and she's here to give us the benefit of her experience in dealing with investigations like this one."

The male occupants of the room exchanged glances and heated mutterings at their boss' announcement before DS Simpson spoke, his negativity instantly obvious in the scathing barb lacing his voice. "With respect, sir...you've got to be joking."

The DSI folded his thick arms across the breadth of his chest, his baritone voice darkening dangerously. "And what would make you think I'm joking?"

"A shrink to solve a murder case? It's fucking ridiculous."

Robertson took the opportunity to chime in. "What happened to good old fashioned detective work?"

Morrison took a sharp breath to rebuke his subordinates but was interrupted by the raised palm of Grace Foley, her voice quiet but firm as she began to speak. "First of all, gentleman, I'm not a shrink; I'm a psychologist with more than fifteen years experience, both in dealing with offenders in Broadmoor and advising the police with their investigations. I realise that this is a new concept for many of you; but using psychology to help guide police work has been in use since the seventies..."

Simpson scoffed. "And that's meant to be reassuring, is it?"

"It's an established science that's becoming more commonly used by police forces nationwide." The profiler sighed softly. "Look, I'm not here to tell you how to do your jobs or run your investigation. I'm just here to provide guidance and insight into the type of person who might be responsible for these murders, that's all."

"What, so you're going to tell us to look for someone who has a fucked up relationship with his mother or is pissed off at his father or...?"

Grace raised an amused eyebrow, unperturbed by the hostility radiating from the younger man. "Actually, parental relationships can be very illuminating; they shape how we interact with other people at a very early age and can have a huge bearing on how we form relationships as we grow. Since you raise those things, perhaps you'd like to come and have a chat to me about them? I'm sure I could get to the bottom of whatever's precipitating your anger and how it might be holding you back in your life."

The room erupted into laughter then, Simpson's face colouring as his colleagues nudged his shoulders, their amusement at his dressing down clear. Boyd sat back in his chair, a slow smile spreading across his face as he observed the petite woman who had, with an understated strength and confidence, successfully managed to dominate a roomful of cynical detectives in a matter of minutes. With some effort, he caught himself before his eyes began to traverse her body of their own accord; the slender curves carefully hidden beneath a simple skirt and blouse, the dark blonde hair loosely styled about her shoulders. She was a far cry from what he considered to be his type but there was something about Grace Foley that intrigued him, that piqued his interest. He raised an eyebrow at the unbidden thought before pushing it deeply to the back of his mind.

"Alright," Morrison spoke again after several minutes had passed, an attempt to regain control over the room. "Now that DS Simpson has successfully managed to make a tit of himself, we'll get down to business. I'll expect you all to review your case notes before handing them to Doctor Foley and we'll meet here again this time tomorrow to see what she can tell us. I don't need to say that there's a lot riding on this, gentlemen; Doctor Foley's insights could just give us the breakthrough we need and I expect you to show her more respect than that which you've just displayed. She's here on the recommendation of the Commissioner so I suggest you all keep that in mind if you value your positions on this squad. That's all."

The officers, many of whom were still chuckling quietly, began to disband then and Boyd rose from his seat as Morrison beckoned him to the front of the room, gesturing towards him as he approached.

"Doctor Foley, this is DI Peter Boyd; he's the OIC on this case and probably the person you'll have the majority of your battles with, even if he does try to turn on the charm."

Boyd opened his mouth to protest but was silenced by the psychologist's wry smile and the extension of her hand, which he shook firmly. "Just as long as you've got a bit more of an open mind than your Sergeant back there," she said, her sapphire eyes shining.

"I like to think so," he replied evenly, his mind briefly registering the softness of her skin before she pulled away.

Her smile widened. "In that case, I'm at your service, Inspector."

He held up a palm, quickly dismissing her use of his rank. "Just 'Boyd'."

"Good. Well, I'll leave Boyd to bring you up to speed, Doctor. I'll be in my office if you need me." With a curt nod of his head, Morrison turned towards his office, leaving Boyd to gesture towards his own domain, indicating that Grace should follow him.

"I'm sorry about Simpson," he began as soon as she had shut the door and taken the proffered seat opposite his desk. "He's a Class-A tosser, unfortunately."

She shrugged. "I'm used to it. Fifteen years off and on I've been working for the police and I don't think I've ever received a wholly positive reception."

"What can I say? We're a territorial lot at best, xenophobic at worst."

"Easily threatened by new ideas or ways of working?"

"Well, hopefully not all of us." He sighed, running a hand through his hair before opening the file that was in a prevalent position at the centre of his desk. "Frankly, Doctor, we're getting nowhere with this investigation; there's barely any physical evidence, let alone any..."

"It's 'Grace'."

He frowned, mildly bemused by her interruption. "What?"

"My name. 'Doctor' feels like I'm getting addressed by one of my patients."

He grinned. "Fair enough."

"Anyway...what were you saying about lack of evidence?"

Boyd turned the file towards her. "Whoever this guy is, he's incredibly forensically aware; there's no trace evidence, no blood, no fibres..."

"But presumably he does have a specific M.O?"

"Yeah. Rape and manual strangulation, according to the post-mortem exams...and there's some...mutilation as well."

Grace barely flinched as she turned the pages to examine the photographs. "Pre- or post-mortem?"

"Post; why, does it make a difference?"

She nodded. "It's the difference between him seeing them as the people they are or of object representation."

"Where he thinks they're someone else?"

"Exactly."

"And that's more likely with post-mortem mutilation?"

"Yes." She paused briefly as her intelligent eyes continued to skim the file's contents. "Any connections between the victims?"

"None that we could see; different ethnicities, socio-economic backgrounds...It's like he chose them at random."

Grace shook her head. "It's unlikely; even a non-pathological offender has a pathological method of choosing his victims."

He gave her a lop-sided grin. "Should I just nod along and pretend I understood that, or...?"

She smiled, the hue of her eyes deepening with her amusement. "If you like."

"Or you could take pity on me and explain it, given that we've only just met."

Her smile broadened and she relented instantly. "Alright. It just means that where people are concerned, things are very rarely, if ever, random. In his head there'll be some criteria by which he chooses these women; it may not make any sense to us but to him it's clear as crystal."

"There, you see? It _is_ possible to explain psychological turns of phrase in words of one syllable; I think you academics just like to make us ill-educated coppers feel stupid."

"Oh, absolutely. It's the main aim of my professional life."

He laughed, his chest warming at their easy interaction, before sobering once more. "Is that enough information for you to make a start?"

She nodded, her professionalism at once reasserting itself. "If I can borrow your file for a bit I'll fill in the blanks myself. I should have at least a basic profile ready for tomorrow morning at the latest."

"Great."

"You should be aware that this isn't a panacea, Boyd; it won't give you definitive answers about the person responsible for these crimes."

"I know. But, frankly, Grace...any help you can give us would be useful at this stage, even if it only serves to point us in the right direction."

"That's all it'll ever be able to do."

"Unless you get out your crystal ball."

"I tend to save that until things get really desperate."

"Christ. Better hope it doesn't come to that, then." He smiled as she laughed softly. "Thanks, Grace."

She inclined her head before rising from the chair and exiting the room, his eyes following as she did so, his mind racing. It was rare for him to connect with someone to such an extent on first meeting them, his natural inclination being towards reticence, but something had fired in his belly as he had spoken to Grace Foley, his intellectual interest stimulated by their ready interaction. He dismissed the notion of a more personal basis for his intrigue as soon as it began to flicker at the edges of his consciousness. _She'll be an interesting colleague_, he thought firmly. _Nothing more, nothing less_. With effort, he focussed on the perpetual image of his wife that was burned onto his retinas before pulling out another file from his drawer and losing himself once more in his work.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer, Pairing, Content & Rating**: See chapter 1.

**A/N**: I'm so sorry this has taken me *forever* to update – what with my only recent emergence from the new-parent fog and the fact that my muse has only just returned from a long holiday, I haven't managed to get to it before now! Anyways, I hope it's ok and flows from the previous chapter (I'm aware that the case Grace & Boyd are working on is vague – I'm trying to focus more on their relationship and less on case specifics but please tell me if it needs fleshing out!) – I promise to force the muse to cooperate on this fic from now on!

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**April 1990**

Grace sat back in her chair and yawned, her slender hands automatically rising to her face in an attempt to banish the exhaustion from her weary eyes before moving to massage the tightly coiled muscles permeating her neck and shoulders. She winced at the instant discomfort as her body resisted her efforts to relieve it, a soft groan escaping her lips. For the past month she had been working tirelessly to construct a profile of the police's serial rapist and murderer despite a frustrating paucity of information and evidence, and a pointed lack of cooperation from her temporary colleagues. Grace sighed heavily, running her fingers through the tangled waves of her hair with resignation. She had never before encountered such determined resistance to her presence and methods, and in spite of her wealth of experience and natural patience she had to admit that it was becoming increasingly wearing. Even Detective Superintendant Morrison, who from the outset had been enthusiastically supportive, was seemingly becoming irritated by her lack of definitive answers and the rest of his team were more than happy to follow his example. She allowed herself a small smile; Peter Boyd had been a refreshing exception to the rule. He had consistently treated her with respect, listening attentively to her expertise and opinions, and even when they disagreed she found that he proffered measured, intelligent arguments, articulating his views more fluently than any policeman she had ever previously worked with. Admittedly the man could shout and pontificate with the best of them, she mused wryly, his deep baritone permeating the air forcefully as he vocalised his frustrations with their mutual lack of progress but he had never once blamed or resented her, unlike the vast majority of his colleagues, and for that she was grateful.

Sighing anew, she shook her head to relieve her mind of his presence, firmly discarding a sudden notion of its perpetuity, and she reached for her files and notes, forcing herself to concentrate on the neat font of her handwriting as her intelligent brain began once more to focus on the task in hand. _The offender is most likely a Caucasian male, twenty five to forty five years of age..._

"Grace?"

Peter Boyd's familiar tones drew her from her cocoon of thought then and she looked up, his suited form coming rapidly into focus as he approached, two steaming mugs held firmly in his grasp. She smiled gratefully as he placed his offering in front of her before perching against her desk to sip from his own.

"How's it going?" he asked momentarily, his eyes flickering across the expanse of paperwork littering her desk.

Grace pushed her hair from her eyes and took a long, welcoming swallow of tea. "Honestly? I've had better days."

"You and me, both."

"I just can't seem to produce anything coherent. This offender's varying preferences make trying to profile him accurately an absolute bloody nightmare."

"Hmm," he intoned, his brow furrowing as he reached across her to retrieve some of her notes, his eyes skimming her writing as he shifted his weight against the desk.

"I mean it's so general as to be almost useless to you," she sighed, frustration lacing every nuance of her tone, dissatisfaction with her own performance weighing heavily against her chest.

He raised his eyebrows. "That's not what I think, Grace, but...it's somewhat ironic you should say it."

Grace felt herself frown as she suddenly became aware of the dark cloud swirling oppressively about his shoulders, the tension coiled across the breadth of his chest. "Why? What's going on?"

Boyd exhaled heavily. "Morrison's arrested someone. He's fucking arrested someone."

Grace felt the breath leave her body in a rush. "You've got to be joking," she said incredulously, her heart sinking further as he sighed again and ran a hand roughly through his greying hair.

"I wish I was."

"What happened? I didn't think anyone was in the frame..."

"Well, that's just the point; who gives a shit about evidence or profiles when you've had someone on your wanted list for years?"

Grace sat back in her chair, shock settling uncomfortably in her chest as she struggled to vocalise her dismay, her disappointment. "Maybe I'm missing something here but I thought Morrison was waiting for something definitive before pulling anyone in?"

"The bastard went behind my back, Grace. He's apparently had this guy in his sights for a while."

"But if there's nothing to tie him to the offences...?"

Boyd shrugged darkly and took a long pull from his mug, sarcasm dripping through his voice. "Welcome to cutting-edge policing in the twentieth century."

She blew out her breath. "God."

"My hands are tied. He's the senior officer, even if it_ is_ my case."

"Have you talked to him?"

"He doesn't want to hear anything I've got to say."

"And I'm guessing he feels the same way about me?"

He smiled wryly. "I don't think you're exactly flavour of the month, no."

Grace folded her arms across her chest and shook her head. "Makes me wonder why the Met have even bothered to pay my salary for the past month if..."

"Try fourteen years and then we might be even in the feeling-completely-redundant stakes." Boyd exhaled noisily. "I want you to talk to this guy, Grace. See what you make of him."

She raised her eyebrows. "You really think Morrison will let me anywhere near him?"

Boyd's mouth was set in a grim line. "I don't give a shit. I'm going to insist on it."

Grace leant forward. "It might not achieve anything, Boyd..."

"Look, I know you're not psychic. I just want to know your first impressions, see how far off the mark Morrison is."

"For all we know he might have the right man..."

"Morrison's got a history with him, Grace. He's about as likely to be our offender as I am."

She smiled briefly. "I'll take your word for it."

"I'm serious. If we don't move on this, Morrison could force the charges through."

"But surely he won't get it past the CPS without sufficient evidence?"

"You'd be surprised. He's nothing if not influential."

Grace took a breath to reply but was interrupted by the shrill sound of her telephone ringing and she reached across her desk to answer it distractedly, her mind still focussed on the severity of Boyd's words as they lingered in the air between them. "Grace Foley."

"Doctor Foley, this is the front desk. I've got an Anna Sutton on the line for you."

Grace felt her stomach clench at the mention of her mother-in-law's name, embarrassed at the sudden, unanticipated clash of her domestic and professional domains, but she commanded her voice to remain even, waving dismissively as Boyd motioned for himself to leave. _It's fine_, she mouthed, watching as he shrugged before pointedly absorbing himself in her files once more. "Thanks."

"Grace?" The tension in Jack's mother's wavering tone was clear as it trilled down the line moments later.

"Is everything alright, Anna?"

"I think you need to come home. Jack's had to go to bed with a headache and the kids are acting up...and I've got to be at my painting class in an hour."

_Jesus_. Grace felt worry flash instinctively through her chest, followed rapidly with infuriation. "I don't remember you mentioning a painting class when I left you this morning."

"Oh, didn't I? I'm sure I did."

"No, you didn't, Anna. I would've arranged to finish work early if I'd have known."

"So, what are you saying, Grace? You can't come home? Your husband and kids need you, or doesn't that matter?"

_You manipulative bitch..._Grace closed her eyes briefly, guilt washing about her consciousness in waves, and she suppressed a sigh, feeling Boyd's concerned gaze fall across her face, aware that a frown was beginning to mar his brow. "I'll be there as soon as I can, alright? You might have to be a few minutes late for your class."

Anna sighed irritably. "Oh, fine. Just get here as soon as you can, would you?"

The older woman rang off without ceremony and Grace blew out her breath, adrenaline surging in her blood even as she tried to force it from her body, willing the resurrection of her normally calm tranquillity. Boyd raised his eyebrows, catching the flash of pain, of fretfulness in her face before her mask fell expertly back into position.

"Childcare issues?" he asked casually, aware he was stepping into unknown territory. He had noted the silver wedding band she wore upon first meeting her but they had never before touched upon the personal subject of their respective families, their conversations always relating to their work, the tone strictly professional.

She smiled fleetingly, aware that it reached nowhere near her eyes. "Cleverly disguised as mother-in-law issues."

"Ah. Differing views on child-rearing?"

_Oh, God, if only it were just that..._ She inclined her head, banishing the inevitable and abiding anxiety that bubbled beneath the veneer of her control. "Just slightly."

He smiled. "How many kids?"

"Three; a mouthy twelve year old girl who's going on sixteen, a boy of ten and another girl of seven."

Boyd let out a low whistle. _Christ, and you look good for it_, he thought, the notion springing forth unbidden in his consciousness before he could wrestle it back within the constraints of his self-control. "Bloody hell," he breathed. "And I thought I had my hands full with just one."

She smiled empathetically. "How old?"

"He's five."

"And bugging you for a brother or sister, then?"

Boyd raised an eyebrow, his mind instantly replaying the most recent and vitriolic argument he had engaged in with his wife, her embittered words echoing loudly around his skull, and he fought to keep uniformity to his voice as he spoke again. "He'd be wasting his breath."

Grace instantly caught the pained undertone to his words. "Oh?"

"Long story," he said curtly before forcing a fallacious lightness to his tone as he noted the piqued interest in her sapphire eyes. _I don't think I should be getting into this with you_... "How do you cope with three, anyway?"

She looked at him for a long moment, his evasiveness intriguing her but she instantly disregarded the notion that her curiosity was anything other than professional. "Most days I have no idea." She sighed eventually, shrugging her slender shoulders as she attempted to feign nonchalance. "To be honest, it wasn't exactly part of the game plan."

"How so?"

"In that the third one was kind of a...happy accident."

Boyd grinned wolfishly. "One too many glasses of wine after a stressful day?" His smile broadened as she groaned an acknowledgment, a slow blush creeping appealingly into her cheeks.

"Something along those lines." She blinked, surprised at the uncharacteristic extent of her frankness. "Sorry. I don't really know why I just told you that."

He laughed, quietly flattered. "Blame it on the extent of your professional and domestic workloads if you like."

"Oh, I blame everything on that, believe me."

He laughed once more before touching her lightly on the shoulder, his tone sobering. "If you need to get off, Grace, it's fine."

She sighed, passing a hand through her hair. "We're right in the middle of..."

"You're here as an external consultant; you're not bound by the same..."

"I still have to honour the hours in my Home Office contract. If I don't, they won't pay me; it's as simple as that."

"It's a one-off, Grace."

"Still..."

"What's the alternative? Leave your kids home alone?"

She smiled thinly. "You sound just like my mother-in-law."

He nodded in the direction of the door. "Get going. I'll cover for you if Morrison kicks off."

Uncertainty flickered across her face. "Are you sure?"

"I wouldn't have said it if I wasn't."

Her features relaxed into a grateful smile, relief at his understanding flooding her chest, and she stood up from behind the desk, beginning to gather her belongings. "Thanks, Boyd. I'll try and be in early in the morning."

He waved her words away. "I'll square it with Morrison about you interviewing the suspect."

"Alright." Her cerulean eyes were shining. "Tell him I promise to be gentle."

He grinned, an odd sensation warming the pit of his gut. "I'll quote you on that."

"See you tomorrow."

He watched her walk from the room then, aware that she was reigning in her natural inclination to hurry, and he fought back a sudden rush of fondness, shaking his head firmly to clear his senses of the lingering scent of her perfume before settling into her chair to continue his reading.

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer, Pairing, Content & Rating**: See chapter 1.

**A/N**: Many thanks to everyone who's still following this fic; I appreciate your support, especially after such a long hiatus! Just a warning for this chapter – there is an episode of domestic violence which some people might find upsetting...

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**May 1990**

Boyd strode irritably down the corridor towards his boss' inner sanctum, his vision a red haze of anger, his jaw set in a furious line. Morrison had summoned him unceremoniously into his office as soon as Boyd had arrived that morning, making it clear that a refusal would be grounds for a formal disciplinary report, and despite a modest degree of procrastination he had eventually left the relative safety of the squad room, his blood pumping in anticipation of his superior's words, adrenaline surging through his veins. He was bitterly aware of Morrison's dissatisfaction with his performance on the case but he was equally determined not to be made a scapegoat for the older man's mistakes; their only suspect had been released without charge almost immediately when another victim had been discovered, the time frame for the offence effectively absolving him of any involvement, and they had yet to make any further arrests or interview any significant new suspects. Morrison's mood had deteriorated darkly as the mounting pressure had grown, his irritation with the team and its OIC abundantly clear, his impatience for a result evident, and Boyd had spent most of his recent time acting as a buffer to protect his team from their leader's unrelenting and unrealistic expectations. He took a deep breath as he reached his destination, trying to control the rage coiling uncomfortably in his gut, and he reached out a fist to knock sharply upon the door.

"Come in," Morrison barked, his tone immediately setting Boyd's teeth on edge, and he counted slowly to ten before stepping over the threshold.

The Superintendant looked up at him over his reading glasses, his features pinching into a tense frown as he noted the identity of the room's newest occupant. "Sit down, Boyd."

Boyd complied, folding his arms across his chest defensively to pre-empt the barrage he was certain would be forthcoming. "What's this about, sir? I've got a lot to be getting on with, as I'm sure you appreciate."

The older man exhaled loudly, discarding his glasses onto the desk with a noisy clatter. "Don't feign ignorance, Boyd. You know precisely what this..."

"You're pissed off your man, Stevens, was a bad call. I could've told you that as soon as you arrested him."

Morrison narrowed his eyes. "I had good reason to suspect him."

"You were getting desperate..."

"Watch your mouth, Boyd." The Superintendant's tone was venomous.

"The press are on our backs, not to mention the victims' families...I suppose it was bound to happen sooner or later."

"I moved on Stevens because you were so fucking slow on the uptake. You'd made precisely zero progress on this case in months."

Boyd rolled his eyes. "Oddly enough, sir, I was waiting for our investigation to produce something concrete before making any arrests..."

"Stevens has form, Boyd. It was a legitimate call."

"It was the wrong one though, wasn't it?"

Morrison sat back in his chair and took a slow draw from his mug before replying. "As it turns out."

"And now you're, what? Looking to blame me for the fact that we're stumbling around in the dark?"

"I mean it, Inspector. You're skating on very thin ice here."

"What do you want from me, George?"

Morrison thumped the desk with a thick fist, its contents trembling from the violent vibrations, his voice rising thunderously in volume. "I want you to do your fucking job! I want you to produce some hard evidence and get a list of possible suspects finalised!"

"Sir..."

"And most of all, Boyd...I want you to stop getting distracted by a certain Broadmoor psychologist and get back to actual detective work, instead of airy fairy academic bullshit!"

Boyd allowed the older man's words to hang suspended in the air, his stony gaze locking to the Superintendant's before he spoke again, his voice low in his throat. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Morrison's eyes were burning. "That she's got you hanging off her every word and relying on her so-called insights to solve this case."

"You were the one who brought her in, sir."

"I was under pressure from the Commissioner, as well you know. Psychological profiling is his latest answer to everything and he's keen for everyone else in the Met to have their eyes opened to its limitless potential." Morrison's voice was saturated with sarcasm.

"So when you said you believed Grace Foley's expertise could help give us a breakthrough you were just towing the party line?"

"I value my job, Inspector."

"You value your _status_, Superintendant," Boyd spat, "and undoubtedly your pension as well."

Morrison's expression darkened, his eyes narrowing caustically, his tone prickling with acerbity. "Are you shagging her, Boyd?"

Boyd barked a short mirthless laugh though he was aware of his pulse quickening beneath his skin at the notion. "Give me a fucking break, George."

"You can't deny there's a precedent. The whole of the Force knew about you and Jess Worrall."

"Is that what all this is really about? Some crude attempt to discredit me based on my private life?"

"Look, she's an attractive woman; and you can shag whoever you like as far as I'm concerned, marriage or no marriage..."

"She's not my type, sir." The words had left his mouth before he could consciously acknowledge their fallacy and he suppressed a frustrated sigh.

"But if it's interfering with your ability to do your job then..."

"I'm not shagging her. Let's be quite clear on that."

Morrison looked at him evenly. "Fine."

Boyd exhaled loudly. "What do you want me to say? That I'll re-double my efforts on this case? That I'll make an arrest within the week?"

"Well, that would be preferable to the current situation, Boyd, wouldn't you say?"

"Is that a multiple choice question, sir?"

"Don't get smart with me. We need a result before another girl gets murdered."

"I'm aware of that. You just need to appreciate that my team is doing everything we can and breathing down our necks every five minutes isn't helping." He sighed. "Frankly, sir, us sitting here going round in circles isn't bringing us any closer to an arrest either."

Morrison leant forward earnestly. "I just wanted to impress on you the severity of the situation, Boyd; and to remind you of the importance of keeping your focus."

"I consider myself duly warned."

Morrison's intense gaze hardened once more. "Piss off, then. I'll expect an updated progress report in forty eight hours."

Boyd stood up, trying desperately to compress his irritation into a tight ball in his stomach. "I'll do my best, sir."

With his superior officer's eyes boring into his back, he strode rapidly from the room, pausing briefly once he had reached the neutral ground of the corridor to release his breath, feeling the tension emanating in pulsating waves from his body. With a concerted effort, he squared his shoulders and made his way back towards the squad room, Morrison's harsh words over his performance uncontrollably drowning beneath the deafening tumult of questioning regarding his conduct with Grace Foley. _Are you shagging her, Boyd? _ He exhaled sharply and ran a hand through his hair as his feet moved along of their own accord, feeling his chest tighten as he replayed the Superintendant's words. Despite his assurances to the contrary,he had found himself surreptitiously watching the psychologist over the past few days, his eyes unconsciously mapping her body, tracing the slender curves of her hips and backside, the generous swell of her breasts hidden teasingly beneath her modest clothing. Her understated attractiveness had crept up on him slowly and unexpectedly, her obliviousness to her own appeal combining irresistibly with her blinding intelligence, her sharp eloquence, her ready wit to leave him fantasising round the clock about the taste of her mouth and the feel of her skin beneath his hands. He sighed heavily as he rounded the corner. _I've got to get a handle on this_, he told himself firmly. _She's married, I'm...nominally married and we work together. It's got fucking disaster written all over it. _Studiously ignoring the stares of his colleagues, he paced to his office and closed the door noisily, slumping heavily into his chair. _Oh, Christ, who am I bloody kidding...?_

_

* * *

_"What time are you going to be home, then? I'm getting fucking sick of this, Grace."

Grace inhaled slowly, willing herself to remain calm as Jack's raised voice tore harshly through the air between them. They had been arguing for almost half an hour, his incessant questioning about her plans for the day becoming more aggressive, more intrusive with each passing minute, and she had to repeatedly remind herself of the failing state of his health to prevent her frustration from overflowing into their dialogue. She pressed her lips together, steeling herself for his increasing irritation as she replied, "It depends what time I get there. I'm already seriously late as it is..."

"I've got my treatments this week; or doesn't that matter to you?"

"Of course it matters to me, Jack. But I can't be in two places at once."

"And your work's more important." His tone was bitter.

"Is that a statement or a question?"

"Oh, fuck off, Grace. Don't start with all that psychoanalytical bullshit."

She was unable to prevent the retort she had previously held in check, exasperation curdling in her throat. "That 'psychoanalytical bullshit' as you put it is the only thing keeping our collective heads above water at the moment, as well you know."

He rolled his eyes, his voice rumbling low in his throat. "Here we go again. In case you'd forgotten, I've got a massive fucking tumour growing in my head..."

_Oh, God._ Grace relented instantly, guilt lapping in her chest. "Jack..."

"So I'm sorry if that makes me a good-for-nothing layabout."

"Did I say that?"

"It's all implicit with you, all passive-aggressive; is that what they teach you in your precious post-graduate courses?"

She took a deep breath, reminding herself strongly that the position and re-growth of his tumour was in all likelihood responsible for the naked hostility of his words, and she tried desperately to harden her heart against the viciousness of his verbal attack. "Look, Jack, I know you're anxious about..."

"You don't know anything," he retorted harshly. "It's not you who's been living with a brain tumour for the past five years, feeling it eating your head from the inside out."

Grace flinched, feeling her voice cracking unbidden in her throat. "Don't you dare try to say that this hasn't had an effect on me..."

"Get over yourself, Grace," he snarled. "My life's changed beyond all recognition..."

"Whereas mine has just carried on as normal, has it?"

"Relatively speaking, yeah."

She swallowed hard, forcing away the tears that scratched incessantly at her eyes. "If you say so."

"I've had five _years_ of this, five fucking years!"

"And so have I, Jack, alright?" She sighed heavily. "I don't want to argue about this." She stepped briefly from the room, clearing her throat and artificially brightening her tone as she peered up the stairs. "Come on, kids!"

"Don't ignore me, Grace!" Jack's roaring voice brought her back with a jolt and she deliberately closed the door, her chest tightening in anticipation of her husband's actions. "Don't you fucking dare!"

She bit hard against the inside of her cheek, trying to maintain a neutral expression even as she tasted blood. "I wasn't ignoring you," she intoned evenly. "I'm just trying to get myself and the kids out of the door so I can get back here at a reasonable hour tonight."

"Don't pretend that you want to..."

"Of course I want to."

"You'd much rather be at work. At least be _honest_, Grace."

"Where's this coming from, Jack?"

He exhaled irritably, rubbing a hand across his forehead. "Oh, I don't know; the fact that you've worked late virtually every day for the past month? The fact that you're practically clawing at the door to get there now?"

Grace took a shallow breath, feeling a responding ache in her ribs. "It's almost nine o'clock. I'm just trying not to be late, that's hardly..."

"It amounts to the same thing."

She sighed softly. "What do you want me to do, Jack? Give up my job? Default on the mortgage?"

He shook his head violently. "I want you to admit that you get a kick out of your work, far more of a kick than you get out of being here with me."

Grace laughed humourlessly. "I'm getting _nowhere_ at work, Jack, alright? I've been there over two months and we're no further on than we were when I arrived."

Jack smiled thinly, his eyes glittering. "So the great Doctor Foley isn't as fucking clever as she thought, then. How does that feel, Grace?"

She closed her eyes momentarily, the angst in her heart almost overwhelming, even as she tried to reassure herself firmly. _It's the tumour. The Jack I married would never say these things. He's not well, he's not himself. He hasn't been himself for years..._ "I need to go."

He stepped towards her dangerously. "Don't walk away from me."

"I need to go, Jack."

She felt the words clatter from her body as his palm struck her violently across the face, the unexpected momentum throwing her roughly to the ground, her skin stinging hotly beneath the impact, her hip painfully striking the wooden floorboards. She inhaled sharply, her hand rising instinctively to her cheek in disbelief of his actions, anguished tears cloying in her throat. _Oh Christ, it's been years since he's done this, years... _

Jack was at her side in an instant, his features contorted with contrition, but she felt herself flinch as he stretched out his hand towards her. "Oh, God, Grace...I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

She swallowed hard, her chest swirling with emotion as she staggered unevenly to her feet, reaching a hand out to the wall to regain her balance. "It's alright," she whispered numbly, aware with every fibre of her being that she was lying.

Jack was shaking, his face gaunt, his skin a sickening shade of grey. "It's just...sometimes...you're so..."

"It's fine." Grace stumbled away from him, reaching out to grasp the door knob. "I'll see you tonight."

She felt her heart shatter, hearing him begin to sob uncontrollably as she closed the door behind her. She took a shuddering breath to steady herself, her cheek beginning to throb unpleasantly in the aftermath of the impact, and she fought back with determination the rising sense of desperation in her throat.

"Mum, where's my gym kit...?" Her eldest daughter had appeared at the bottom of the stairs, her voice trailing off as she noted Grace's taut demeanour. "What's going on?"

Grace cleared her throat, willing herself to smile reassuringly. "Nothing, love..."

"Why's Dad crying?"

"He's fine. Let's go, we're seriously late..."

Gina stuck out her chin defiantly. "I'm not going anywhere till I know Dad's okay."

Grace suppressed a sigh. "He's just a bit worried about his treatments, love, that's all. Get your shoes on."

"Why do you sound all funny? Seriously, Mum, what's going on?"

Grace felt her carefully held patience evaporate suddenly beneath the cloud of oppressive tension weighing heavily across her back and she ran a hand roughly across her face. "For God's sake, Gina, will you just get your bloody shoes on please? We're already beyond late and you're not helping with your bloody constant questions!"

The pre-teen's expression darkened moodily and she stomped angrily back up the stairs, slamming her bedroom door with force, the frame shaking violently in her wake. Grace closed her eyes with a shuddering sigh, regret lapping at her conscience as she bit back remorseful tears, her body crumpling of its own volition once more to the floor, her stomach clenching painfully. _Oh God, it's all falling apart_, she thought desperately. _I'm a shit wife, a shit mother and if I don't end up losing my Met contract it'll be an absolute fucking miracle. I don't know how much more of this I can take..._She blinked firmly to clear her vision, taking a deep, cleansing breath into her lungs and focussing on the sensation of the air caressing her nerve endings as she tried to restore her equilibrium_. But I have to. I don't have a choice. If I don't pull myself together, we could lose everything..._ With a concerted effort, she forced her exhausted body to stand, pushing the seductively depressive thoughts firmly to the base of her skull before walking slowly up the stairs and towards her daughter's room.

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer, Pairing, Content & Rating**: See chapter 1.

**A/N**: And so series 9 is upon us! Because I've had this fic planned for a while, I have to say that whatever happens on the show will not affect the direction of this story – in particular I'm thinking of the ep 'Solidarity', which may flesh out Grace's past a bit...but as far as this fic is concerned, if the events of that ep don't fit, I'm just going to ignore them! ;)

This chapter takes place later the same day as Chapter 10...

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**May 1990**

Boyd glanced up from the files he was purportedly immersed in for the fifth time in as many minutes, his eyes flickering to the huddled form of his office companion as she sat with her slim legs tucked beneath her on his couch. She had been there for close to an hour, her head bent in concentration as she proofread his report for Morrison, her pen tapping unconsciously against the paper. He sighed softly as he watched her tuck an errant strand of hair behind her ear, worry compressing his chest. She had been quiet to the point of withdrawn for most of the day, her reticence appearing uncharacteristic to him despite the mere two months he had known her, and he had been unable to prevent tendrils of concern from snaking into his thoughts. He looked at his watch, feeling himself frown as he noted the time.

"You don't have to stay, you know. I'm sure you must have run that red pen out by now."

Grace gave a small smile as she looked up from her work. "Not quite."

"You're taking forever; trouble reading my handwriting or something?"

Her smile broadened. "You've got typical copper's handwriting, Boyd; need I say more?"

He grinned, pushing away the nagging apprehension in his gut. "Well, the Met can't afford to pay for a secretary to do my typing...unless you're volunteering, are you?"

Grace rolled her eyes. "Perk of my gender?"

"Yeah." His dark eyes were shining impishly.

"And the fact that I've got a Ph.D. in psychology is beside the point?"

"It's a plus point; you'd be able to analyse the content of my reports as well as type them up."

She smiled good-naturedly. "If I was of a different personality, Boyd, I could really take offence here, you know."

"Well, luckily for me you're not, then."

"It doesn't mean you can continue to make outrageous proposals. I'm not _that_ patient."

"You've got three kids, Grace; patience has got to be your middle name."

"I'm sure they'd beg to differ on that score. I don't think I'm exactly winning any mother-of-the-year awards just at the moment."

He looked at her, catching the hint of distress in her voice. "So go home, then," he said, his chest contracting at her heavy sigh. "Seriously, Grace. It's past seven o'clock."

Grace deliberately returned her attention to the paper on her lap to avoid his gaze, the cold reality of her domestic situation bluntly reasserting itself and overshadowing the warmth of their easy banter. "It's fine."

"Most people don't need telling twice to leave the office..."

"You asked me to read your report, Boyd," she intoned evenly. "That's what I'm doing."

He exhaled noisily. "For the past hour?"

"It's called being thorough." _And I just can't face going home yet..._

"Come _on_..."

Grace sighed again, the papers in her hands rustling as she placed them back on her knees. "Look, I'm not in a rush, alright? But if you are then I'll find somewhere else to go."

He held up a placating palm, surprised at her tone. "No rush. I just thought you'd have needed to get home to your kids, that's all."

She shook her head briefly, guilt flaring in her chest. "They're at a friend's overnight." _I don't want them to see Jack in the aftermath of his treatment..._

"And your husband won't be wondering where you are by now?"

She looked at him across the expanse of the room, noting the guarded expression which fell expertly into place as his curiosity was blinked quickly away and she fought to keep her voice neutral. "My husband's not well, Boyd. He won't notice if I'm there or not."

Boyd smirked and settled back in his chair, oblivious to the note of pain in her words. "Man flu, is it? And this is where you tell me we're all the bloody same and whinge like children at the merest hint of a cold?"

_Oh, God, I wish that was the problem...with every single bone of my body._ Grace felt her breath catch in her throat at the thought, memories of Jack's palm striking her face that morning rushing violently back into her mind, followed immediately by the incessant questioning of her younger children in the car and the stony silence of her eldest...

"_What's wrong with Dad, Mum? Gina said he was crying..."_

"_Is his head hurting him? Is the tumour making him sad?"_

"_I heard him shouting, what did you do to make him cross?"_

"_Aren't we coming home tonight? Why do we have to go to Auntie Anne's?"_

"_I don't want to go to Auntie Anne's, Mum! I want to come home and see Daddy!"_

_..._

She closed her eyes against the anxiety of recall, remembering her raised voice as she had finally snapped beneath the barrage, the resulting tears and whimpering as she had sped too fast along the road, desperate to get the children away from her so she could weep her anguish into the silence of the empty car. She took a shaking breath as she realised she was once again on the verge of tears, embarrassment creeping hotly into her chest as she tried intently to regain control of her emotions, hyper aware of the presence and identity of the other person in the room. Momentarily she felt Boyd sit down gently at her side, aware of the waves of concern radiating from his body even as her eyes remained closed and she took a further deep, cleansing breath before opening them once more.

Boyd's voice was soft when he spoke again, its timbre gentle. "What have I said?" he murmured, his stomach tightening at the barely concealed hurt in her face.

"Nothing. It's...it's nothing," she managed, in staccato, feeling her throat swell with the pressure of keeping her torment firmly locked beneath her control.

"If you don't want to tell me, it's fine," he said softly. "But, Grace...I know something's been on your mind today...and that it's the same something that's stopping you from going home now."

"I've never..." She broke off with a sigh, uncertainty swirling intensely in her chest as she debated the wisdom of unloading the troubled truth of her home life. "No-one here knows, Boyd; it's...it's deeply personal..."

"You can trust me. Whatever it is, it won't leave this room."

She looked at him, absorbing the sincere intensity in his charcoal eyes, and she felt her heart splinter, the words tumbling irretrievably from her mouth before she could stop them. "My husband...It's a brain tumour..."

_Oh, shit. Holy fucking shit..._Boyd looked aghast, his skin visibly paling at the shocking unexpectedness of her words, guilt at his former flippancy tearing through his consciousness. "Christ..."

"It's been on-going for five years," she continued flatly, unable to prevent the flow of words, her eyes focussing firmly across the room as she fought to hold her composure. "Which, considering he was only given two at the outset...I suppose we should be grateful."

_My God, your youngest child was only two when he was diagnosed...How the hell did you cope...?_ "Grace, I...I'm so sorry. I don't know what to say."

She smiled fleetingly though the expression was forced. "We're handling it. Some days better than others, it has to be said."

"Is he having treatment?"

"Off and on. This is his third re-growth so the options are getting more limited...and the treatments are getting harsher. The effects are cumulative so..." She broke off and shrugged. "Sometimes it's hard to know which symptoms can be attributed to the tumour and which are the result of the various therapies he's had over the years."

"And is he...I mean, can he a live a normal life? Work, et cetera?"

She suppressed a smile at the question, his workaholic personality naturally asserting itself in spite of his external focus towards her situation. "He hasn't worked in years. The tumour affects his thought processes, his behaviour, so..."

"So everything's all on you; work, paying the mortgage, child-rearing...Absolutely bloody everything?"

She swallowed hard, her gaze dropping to her hands in her lap, barely able to squeeze her reply past her vocal chords, the pressure on her larynx immense. "Yeah."

Boyd blew out his breath, genuine admiration filling his words. "Fucking hell. It's a miracle you're not constantly on the verge of a nervous breakdown."

_Oh, I am. I have been for years_. She blinked furiously in a futile attempt to banish the tears that were rapidly forming unbidden in her eyes and she felt his hand reach across to squeeze her shoulder, his fingers gently massaging her tightly wound muscles and tendons through the soft cashmere of her jumper. She sighed, the breath shuddering unevenly from her body as a cascade of emotions flooded her senses. _We shouldn't be doing this_, she thought firmly, even as she unconsciously angled her head to allow him closer access, feeling her pulse quicken as he began to caress her more firmly, his fingers sliding to the back of her neck. She turned to face him, grateful when he allowed his hand to fall away though her skin instantly missed his comforting warmth.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "You didn't need to know all of that."

He shook his head, willing away a powerful urge to stroke her face, to bring her mouth to his. "It's fine. You seem like you need to...de-brief. Emotionally, psychologically; whatever."

She raised an eyebrow, seizing the chance to change the subject. "That's therapist-speak if ever I heard it. I wouldn't have had you pegged as a..."

He grunted derisively, cutting her off. "Marriage counselling."

"Ah." Realisation filled her chest and the subsequent question formed before she could stop it. "Did it work?"

"Well, I'm still married if that's what you're asking. At least on paper." He sighed heavily. "Look, Grace, I've never been much good at this sort of thing but...if you need...someone to...I don't know, vent to, from time to time..."

She smiled, her heart warming at his words. "Thanks. I appreciate that."

"I know in practical terms it won't change anything. You still have to go home to a pretty shitty situation regardless."

"Yes, but it might make it less likely you'll have to arrest me for murder the next day."

He grinned. "Husband or kids?"

"Either. Both."

"And there's me thinking what a good person you are."

"I wish that was true." She sobered instantly, the perpetual guilt tightening in her gut though it was sublimated by an acute need to unburden herself. "Jack...my husband...he's changed so much since all this started, sometimes I...don't recognise him anymore. That's a hard thing to come to terms with."

"It can't be easy for him, Grace. He's got a ticking time bomb in his head."

"I can cope with that. I understand that he's mentally and physically exhausted from it all."

"But...?"

She sighed. "The location of the tumour means his behaviour is...erratic, inconsistent...and...and he's..."

He frowned as she broke off, his concern deepening as he watched her struggle with her decision to open up to him, her features contorting as she internally debated the extent and wisdom of her outpouring. The reason behind her reticence hit him suddenly and squarely in the chest and he sighed deeply. _Oh, shit...He hits her...The bastard hits her..._ "Is he violent?" he asked eventually, forcing his tone to remain impassive despite the churning in his stomach.

Grace gave a tiny nod, her voice barely audible. "Sometimes."

"Towards you? Towards the kids?"

She looked at him, registering the flicker of anger in his dark eyes. "I'm telling you this in confidence, Boyd. As a person, not as a policeman."

"No, I understand that."

"Do you?"

He blinked, deliberately sidestepping her. "Does he hit you?"

She sighed heavily, unable to evade the question beneath the intense scrutiny of his gaze. "He doesn't mean it. He's not in control of his actions."

"Are you sure about that?"

"We've been married for almost thirteen years, Boyd. I know him better than I've ever known anybody."

He shook his head slowly. "You didn't answer my question."

"He never did it before he became ill, alright? And he knows he shouldn't be doing it now but...the tumour...It's almost like it takes over...and he can't control what it makes him do."

"Can't he get help for it? Anger management therapy or something?"

"He's tried. The first and only time he struck one of the kids, it was a condition of us staying that he see a therapist but..." She broke off and pushed her hair back from her face. "When the red mist descends he can't see a way out. The part of his brain responsible for judgement, for appropriate behaviour has been ravaged by the tumour and further damaged by the treatments..."

"So he'll be like it for the rest of his life?"

"Yeah. Even if he continues to beat the odds."

"Jesus." Boyd blew the breath sharply from his lungs, allowing the silence between them to elongate before speaking again. "I don't know how you do it."

She shrugged, trying to reassert her stoicism. "Well, what choice do I have?"

"I can think of one."

"You mean leave. Take the kids and get out of there."

"Haven't you thought about it over the years? Even in passing?"

"What kind of wife would that make me, Boyd? That I'd leave him at the absolute lowest ebb of his life?"

"And what about yours? Doesn't it matter that you're going to have to live with the constant threat of domestic violence for the rest of your life?"

Grace gasped as the tears returned sharply to ravage her throat, her voice cloying as her anguish swirled savagely behind her eyes. "You mean the rest of _his_ life, don't you?"

Boyd closed his eyes for a brief moment, viciously berating himself for his tactlessness, and he took a ragged breath, fighting every instinct in his body to reach for her hand. "Christ, I'm sorry, Grace. I'm a thoughtless, insensitive prick."

She inhaled shakily. "I know it's a lot to take in...and I've rather dumped it all on you in one go."

"Even so...You'd think I was old enough to engage my brain before opening my mouth."

"It's fine, Boyd. It's just...the reality of it all is...overwhelming sometimes, you know?"

"I can't even begin to imagine." He was quiet for several moments then, allowing her space for her composure to reassert itself before speaking again. "You should go home, Grace."

She sighed softly. "I know. I just...I don't want to face it. Not yet. Not after his first day of treatments."

"Meaning you want to hide out here for a bit longer?"

She looked at him. "Is that alright?"

"With me? Absolutely. But I know you know it's not the right thing to do."

She sighed again in acknowledgment of the accuracy and perception of his statement, the breath escaping her lungs in a gentle rush. "Yeah."

"So, I'm going to kick you out. Get your coat."

Grace was unable to prevent a smile from spreading across her features as he pulled her gently to her feet, following her into the main meeting room and helping her slide her arms into her coat before walking her to the front door of the station.

"I don't want to see you before nine tomorrow," he said firmly, watching as she fumbled in her handbag for her car keys, her shoulders rising and falling in a sigh at his words.

"Boyd..."

"I mean it. All of this..." He gestured to the deserted space around them. "...it means nothing compared to what you've got on the home front, alright?"

"Girls are dying, Boyd..."

"I know that."

"...and if I can help find the person responsible..."

He sighed loudly and placed his hands on her shoulders, trying not to focus on their delicate lines beneath her coat. "Look, the bottom line is...I don't want you carried off to the funny farm because you burnt yourself out. You'll be no good to your family _or_ this investigation if that happens."

Grace pressed her lips together, unable to meet his gaze, unwilling to acknowledge the butterflies that were swirling suddenly in her stomach at his touch. "I'll be fine."

"Right. You keep telling yourself that until you crack up."

She blinked, raising her eyes to meet his and feeling her breath catch as she caught the flicker of desire, which he rapidly suppressed. "I'm a psychologist, Boyd. I know I'm under stress but I'm a long way from cracking up. Believe me."

"Because you'd recognise the signs?"

"Exactly."

"You're inside the frame, Grace. That makes having perspective almost impossible."

She gave a crooked smile. "That's very poetic."

"Seriously. If I see you in here before nine o'clock tomorrow morning I'm sending you straight back home."

Her smile broadened. "You're not my boss."

"Well, as good as. For the time being at least."

"Whatever you say, sir."

He laughed at the teasing tone of her words, releasing his hold on her body before stooping instinctively to brush his lips against her cheek, the action complete before he could stop it, a soft glow instantly infusing her skin. "Good night, then."

She caught his arm as he moved to turn away. "Good night, Boyd; and...thanks."

"Any time."

"I'll hold you to that."

With a final smile, she turned on her heel and walked through the door, feeling a lightness suffuse her soul for the first time in months as a delicate spring breeze blew gently through her hair. Resolutely she pushed away the memory of his mouth against her skin, focussing firmly on her husband as she opened her car door and started the engine.

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer, Pairing, Content & Rating**: See chapter 1.

**A/N**: So sorry for the delay in getting this chapter up – over the past week I've had a sick baby, a sick husband...and then I was sick myself so I've literally had no time! The two sections of this chapter are meant to run concurrently, with some degree of mirroring between the two situations; I hope it's okay and thanks for reading...

* * *

**June 1990**

Boyd cursed silently as he stepped through the doorway to his house, his eyes immediately falling on the grandfather clock in the hallway, his stomach tensing painfully as he noted the lateness of the hour with dismay. He took a breath, steeling himself for his wife's reaction to his seemingly inevitable regression back into old habits, peering his head around the living room door and fixing his expression into one of sheepish chagrin.

"I'm sorry...," he began, feeling his sense of foreboding multiply exponentially as she looked up at him with an icy smile, her pale face wrought with tension.

"It's fine, Peter."

He frowned at the forced uniformity of her tone. "It's just this case, it's..."

"I said it's fine."

Sighing heavily, he walked into the softly lit room, pulling his jacket roughly from his body as he headed towards the sideboard and its exhaustive selection of decanters. "Can I at least get a drink before you start laying in to me?"

Mary's own sigh was softly despondent and she stretched to turn off the television, its low rumble abruptly silenced. "I'm not going to."

"Ah. So you're going to do the passive-aggressive thing instead."

She blinked up at him, one eyebrow raised wryly. "You've been spending too much time with that profiler; since when did you use terms like 'passive-aggressive'?"

_Christ, that's a different issue, altogether..._ He pushed away the thought and the associated guilt which tugged at his stomach every time his mind wandered towards Grace, pouring himself a large measure of whiskey before taking a seat beside his wife, the agitation in her body clear despite the contrary reassurances of her words.

"So, come on, then," he began, taking a mouthful from his glass, feeling the liquid burn caustically down his throat to warm his chest, her unusual reticence beginning to unnerve him.

Mary laughed mirthlessly, turning in her seat to face him. "What is there to say, Peter?"

He exhaled noisily. "Oh, I don't know; something along the lines of it only having been three months since I swore to you things would change, that I would prioritise you and Joe, that I would make sure I was home on time and not put my work first..."

"I've said it all before. I'm tired of going over the same ground with you when you clearly have no intention of changing for me."

"I've tried. I _am_ trying..."

"But the case is important."

"Young girls are dying, Mary."

"I'm aware of that. I know you have responsibilities outside of this family."

"But...?"

"It's a question of priorities, of loyalty; and it's pretty obvious where both of yours lie."

He sighed. "Mary..."

She held up a palm towards him. "It's not a criticism per se, Peter. It's who you are."

"I just..."

"I was a fool to think I could change you."

He swallowed hard, a knot of tension threatening to constrict his airway, and he looked at her, the dull sheen permeating her emerald eyes compounding his anxiety. "What are you saying, Mary?"

She pressed her lips together, her delicate shoulders rising and falling in a deep sigh. "I won't give you a divorce, Peter."

"Did I say I wanted that?"

"Frankly I don't care what you want," she intoned sharply. "I know the statistics; children do better in households where they have both parents together."

He blew out a dismissive breath. "Even when the parents are at each other's throats?"

"Are we at each other's throats?"

"No. There's just a constant undercurrent of hostility."

"And whose fault do you think that is?"

He rolled his eyes, irritation crackling along the length of his nerves. "So we _are_ playing the blame-game, then. That didn't take you long."

Her expression darkened. "Don't you dare try to put this on me. I've tried for years to save this marriage; through your obsessive commitment to your work, through your affair..."

"I thought we agreed not to mention that again; wiping the slate clean and all that..."

"...and through all of it I've also been trying to raise our son, pretty much single-handedly! So don't you _dare_, Peter; don't you bloody dare."

"It takes two, doesn't it? To make or break a marriage?"

"Dr Foley tell you that, did she?"

"It's common knowledge." The poison in her tone was clear and Boyd raised his eyebrows retrospectively. "What are you implying?"

"About what?"

"About Grace Foley."

"Ah, she's 'Grace', is she? I might have known."

"Oh, don't."

"She another notch on the bedpost, Peter?"

The notion made his blood ignite lustfully despite himself and he fought to maintain an even tone. "Of course not," he sighed with frustration. "Look, we're getting wildly off topic here, aren't we?"

"Are we? We're talking about your fucked up loyalties, the reason this marriage is on the verge of collapse..."

"It's got nothing to do with Grace, alright? She's a colleague..."

"A friend?"

He inclined his head. "Yeah. Am I not allowed to have female friends now?"

"The point is, Peter, that you don't need another distraction, another reason not to be fully devoted to me and Joe; you've got enough of that with your work."

Boyd ran a hand through his hair, feeling his exasperation beginning to reach boiling point. "I don't know what more you want from me."

She barked an incredulous laugh. "What I want seems to be irrelevant."

"Of course it isn't."

"Words, Peter; they mean absolutely nothing when they're not reinforced by actions."

"Lay it on the line for me, then; what do you think we should do?"

Mary sighed, fighting the torrent of desperation, of bitter disappointment that swirled oppressively in her chest, and she blinked, determined not to shed the tears that were prickling insistently at the corners of her eyes. "I think...that you should move into the spare room. I think that we should put up a united front for the sake of our son but that in all other respects we should effectively live separate lives from now on."

"I don't...Mary..."

"Don't pretend that it'll be a huge change for you, Peter. It's pretty much the way things already are."

"Separate rooms?"

"It makes sense. It's not like we have sex anymore."

"That's not just down to me. I've tried..."

"What? A quick grope in the dark when you stumble home from work in the middle of the night?"

"Well, at least it's something. How do you think I feel when you recoil away from me?"

"And how do you think_ I_ feel when I know you're just making a token effort?"

He threw up his hands. "I can't win, then, can I? If I try to touch you, I'm just making a token effort; if I _don't _touch you, I must be having an affair! For fuck's sake, Mary, what the hell do you want me to do?"

"I've told you; I want you to move out of our bedroom..."

"And if Joe asks? What then?"

She shrugged. "We'll just tell him it's because you're working long hours and don't want to disturb me. We'll _lie_, Peter; we're both experts at that by now."

Boyd took a deep, shuddering breath and ran a hand across his face, a desperate attempt to restore calm to his psyche before speaking again, his efforts focused on softening his voice. "Are you absolutely sure this is what you want? Because frankly, Mary...I'm not sure there's a way back once we start down this road."

She inhaled sharply, unable to stop the tears she had doggedly held at bay from spilling from her eyes and streaking across the expanse of her cheeks. "I know," she whispered hoarsely, gulping lungfuls of air as she tried to restore the shattered veneer of her control. "But I can't see any other way to go on, Peter. At least this way we won't have to pretend to each other anymore."

"Just to the rest of the world. Just to our son." His tone was bitter.

"It's _because_ of him that I want to do this. I want him to have a mother and a father..."

"He'll always have a mother and a father...whether we're together or not."

"You know what I meant."

"And you honestly think this is best for him, do you? Some fucking weird set-up where his parents live together but are effectively separated?"

Mary rubbed her eyes harshly, shakily, her voice rising with her desperation, her anguish. "What's best for him would be a normal family, Peter, with parents who love each other and love him and everyone getting along! But we can't give him that, can we? We're the absolute definition of a failure as far as Joe is concerned!"

He felt her words like a blow to the stomach. "You're saying you don't love me?"

She blinked, her eyes laden with a sadness she was unable to suppress, her throat aching with the effort. "You're the father of my child."

"That's not an answer, Mary."

Sighing, she rose to her feet, pulling her cardigan tighter about her slender frame before pausing at the living room door to look back at him over her shoulder, the weight of her decision pressing heavily against her chest. "Good night, Peter. I've made up the spare bed."

"Mary..."

"Try not to make too much noise in the morning."

With that, she left the room and Boyd slumped dejectedly back against the sofa cushions, releasing an emphatic breath into the stillness of the empty room, his heart pumping furiously as his mind struggled to accept the finality to his wife's words. _So that's it, then_, he thought despondently, melancholy permeating every inch of his soul. _My marriage is as good as over...I suppose I should have seen it coming...My fucking ridiculous obsession with my work, my affair with Jess...and now these feelings for Grace...How the hell has it taken Mary until now to decide I wasn't worth her time? Christ, this is a mess. A bloody awful, fucking mess. _With a heavy sigh, he levered himself from the sofa and strode purposefully towards his whiskey bottle.

* * *

"Do you have any idea what time it is?"

The voice of her mother-in-law sliced harshly through the quiet stillness of the hallway as Grace stepped over the threshold into her house and the profiler felt her blood pressure increase another notch at the accusation in the older woman's tone, her chest constricting immediately with guilt.

"I'm sorry, Anna," she began, divesting herself quickly of her coat and moving into the living room, the sight of her children's belongings scattered haphazardly about the floor causing another pang of self-loathing to clatter through her heart. "I _did_ say I was going to be late today, we've been interviewing suspects left, right and centre..."

Anna Sutton held up a palm. "Spare me the details, Grace."

"Are the kids in bed?"

"Well, I should think so, shouldn't you? It's past ten o'clock."

Grace took a subtly shallow breath, willing herself to remain calm. "And Jack?"

"He was asleep by seven. You know how tired he gets in the aftermath of treatment."

"Yeah..."

"Not that you're around much to see it these days."

Grace ran an exhausted hand across her face, feeling her barely held patience beginning to crumble. "No. I'm out earning a living to make sure there's a roof over all our heads."

"Don't take a tone with me, Grace."

"I'm doing my best, Anna, alright? I'm just doing my best."

"Well, you'll hate me for saying it's not good enough, then."

Grace fought an almost irrepressible urge to roll her eyes, unable to keep a barbed edge from her tone. "That's what I've always loved about you, Anna; your unconditionally supportive attitude."

The older woman's expression darkened thunderously. "I've been more than supportive over the past five years, Grace. I've put my own life on hold to look after your husband..."

"Your _son_..."

"...and your children whilst you indulge every academic and intellectual whim...and goodness knows what else besides."

Grace felt her mouth fall open. "I'm earning _money_, Anna; what would you have me do instead?"

"It's not the earning of money I have a problem with. I understand that Jack's incapacity benefit wouldn't stretch very far with three kids to feed."

"Then, what?"

Anna sighed heavily. "You had a comfortable full-time job at Broadmoor, with regular hours..."

"I still put in hours at Broadmoor..."

"When you're not tied up till God knows when with your police work."

"This is an important case, Anna. The person responsible for these crimes is..."

"Your children never see you, Grace. Your husband is trying to deal with a brain tumour. They could all do with a bit more of your time and attention."

Grace exhaled softly, her body sinking to the sofa and for a brief moment revelling in its comforting softness before the tension in her frame firmly reasserted itself. "What do you want me to say?" she murmured quietly, the ball of pressure in her throat stubbornly inhibiting her efforts to dislodge it. "That I'll promise to be home at five every day? That I'll go back to Broadmoor and abandon my responsibilities to the police just as we're starting to make progress?"

"They could contract in another psychologist, couldn't they? You're not the only one in London, for God's sake."

"I'm the only one familiar enough with this case, I..."

"And that takes precedence over your responsibilities to your family, does it?"

"Of course not..."

"Unless something else is really going on and you're just using work as a mask for it."

Grace felt her blood freeze instantly in her veins. "What the hell does that mean?"

Anna's gaze was cold, her eyes brimming with invective admonishment. "I think you know perfectly well what it means."

"I'm not a bloody mind-reader, Anna. Tell me what you're accusing me of so I at least have a vague chance of defending myself."

"Alright." The older woman drew a breath, her eyes locking intensely to her daughter-in-law's before speaking again. "Are you having an affair, Grace? Is that the real reason behind your long hours at work, your obsessive dedication to the police?"

"How dare you..."

"One of the policeman, is it?"

Grace blew out her breath hotly, immediately pushing a recurrent fantasy of Boyd's mouth between her thighs to the base of her skull before it could overwhelm her. "Is that really what you think of me? After all these years?"

"I'm just saying. It would make sense, given the..."

"In what warped reality could it _possibly_ make sense?"

"Given the fact that you seem to keep away from this house at all costs, that you stay at work well into the night, that you..."

"I'm _working_, Anna! I'm fucking working!" She was unable to prevent the expletive, her vision suffused with a scarlet haze, her body shaking with adrenaline.

Anna paled visibly beneath the unexpected and uncharacteristic vehemence of the younger woman. "There's no need to..."

"There's _every_ need to when you're accusing me of cheating on Jack!"

"I haven't heard you deny it yet, Grace."

"In the first instance, it's none of your damn business..."

"It most certainly is my business when we're talking about my son. My terminally ill son, at that."

"...and besides which, I think I'd be wasting my breath; you're not going to believe me, whatever I say, are you?"

Anna sighed loudly. "Surely you can't blame me for thinking it."

"And surely you can't blame me for being offended by it."

"There's a precedent, Grace. I know you had an affair with a policeman before you married Jack."

Grace felt her stomach twist painfully, betrayal tearing through her heart at the revelation that her husband had divulged to his mother about Harry Taylor. "That's _private, _Anna; something I thought was just between Jack and me."

"It was years ago. He was upset and he..."

"He shouldn't have told you..."

"Maybe not. But you can't deny that it's true."

"Did he also tell you that I didn't know said policeman was married at the time of our relationship?"

"Yes..."

"So I can hardly be held responsible for falling in love with someone that I thought was as unattached as I was, can I?"

"No. But it just makes me wonder if you've got a certain...penchant for coppers, that's all."

Grace laughed mirthlessly. "And I just can't help myself; is that what you're saying?"

"You're the psychologist here, Grace. I'm sure it's one of those deep-seated, unconscious things..."

"I can tell you for a fact that it's not; and it's beside the point."

"Which is?"

"That you seem to think so little of me that you'd make wild accusations and assumptions based on absolutely nothing."

The older woman sighed. "I'm just trying to find a reason why I effectively have to parent your children for you while you swan about with your precious police colleagues..."

"And there's me thinking you actually _wanted_ to help myself and your son in the midst of a very difficult situation." Grace stood slowly from the couch, determination solidifying in her mind. "I think you should leave now, Anna."

"Grace..."

"I mean it. I'll find someone else to help out with the kids from now on."

Anna barked an incredulous laugh. "Are you banning me from seeing my grandchildren?"

"Of course not. But it's clear that you disapprove of how I'm trying to juggle my responsibilities...and I need someone who'll be more supportive." _Because I'm drowning. Can't you see that, you old bitch? I'm inexorably drowning and I'm all alone..._

"Fine." Anna rose defiantly to her feet, brushing roughly past Grace as she moved into the hallway to retrieve her coat. "But don't you _dare _come crying to me for help again, Grace. I've done my bit."

"We'll be fine."

"Well, I certainly hope so. I certainly hope you aren't screwing those kids up for life."

With a final toss of her head, Anna strode heatedly through the front door, which Grace closed firmly behind her, resisting a powerful temptation to slam it angrily in her wake. With a sob she sank to the floor, her head falling into her hands, her delicate facade of composure crumbling instantly through her being, her heart wrenching with spasms of guilt as her mother-in-law's closing words replayed manically through the bones of her skull. _Oh, God, I'm so tired, _she thought as bitter tears tracked the length of her cheeks, her shoulders shaking with the effort of reining in her desire to vent her anguish into the stillness_. I'm so desperately, desperately tired...and I don't know what to do anymore..._It was more than an hour before she could force her exhausted, defeated body to stagger falteringly to its feet.

TBC


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer, Pairing, Content & Rating**: See chapter 1.

**A/N**: Firstly, huge apologies for the delay in getting this written – S9 well and truly distracted me and the muse! Also, the episode 'Solidarity' has definitely ruined my back-story but it was such a fantastic, shippy episode that I think I'll forgive it! Anyways, as I've said before, I'm effectively going to ignore the recently divulged canon stuff about Grace's past and just keep on going down the road I've set her on. Hope this chapter is up to expectations...

* * *

**July ****1990**

Boyd took a large draw from his champagne glass, feeling the residual tension in his muscles finally beginning to subside as the liquid bubbled pleasantly down his throat, warmth spreading through his chest as his eyes surveyed his equally buoyant companions in the squad room. The positive conclusion to the case had come together with almost frightening speed in the end; their suspect had broken down beneath Grace's gentle yet firm questioning, Boyd's initial resistance to her leading the interview dissolving with each passing minute as he marvelled at the quiet strength of her technique, and finally the man had made a full confession, his impassioned appeal for leniency falling on deaf ears as he submitted his guilty plea before the magistrates that morning. Morrison had declared a unilateral victory, Boyd forcibly swallowing his irritation at the older man's speech, which barely acknowledged the profiler's contribution and enthusiastically praised his team of detectives, but he had brightened when the Superintendant had declared the rest of the afternoon open to celebrations and champagne. The result had come at the right time, he mused as he took another sip from his glass, nodding an acknowledgment as one of the DCs caught his eye across the room; his home life was strained in the extreme, he and Mary barely on speaking terms, and their lack of progress on the case had compounded his stress levels and dwindling self-esteem to such an extent that resignation had started to become an increasingly attractive prospect. Now he was certain he could approach Morrison about a promotion, his confidence in his own professional abilities reaffirmed in addition to his sense of moral pride that he had helped to apprehend a most dangerous and prolific offender.

He blinked from his reverie as he noticed Grace enter the room, her previous absence the only dark cloud permeating an otherwise sunlit day, and he felt the smile that instantly tugged at his mouth begin to fade as he absorbed her tightly drawn features, the tension coiling to breaking point in her shoulders. He raised his eyebrows at her in question but she shook her head almost imperceptibly, her mask of professionalism falling into place as she approached Morrison, a glass of champagne thrust immediately into her hands.

It was more than ten minutes before he watched her make her excuses to the Superintendent and extricate herself from the conversation, and Boyd wordlessly refilled her glass as she approached, her face slackening with gratitude before the anxiety she was clearly trying to suppress reasserted itself.

"So, apparently you should be walking on air," he opened dryly, ignoring the quickening of his pulse as she leaned against the desk beside him, her arm flush with his.

Grace gave a derisive snort. "To hear Morrison talk you'd think my involvement was only peripheral."

"Well, you know that's bollocks. Without you we'd never have got a confession and he damn well knows it."

She shrugged modestly. "I'm sure you'd have managed."

"In our bullish and ham-fisted policeman's fashion?"

She gave a small smile. "Did I say that?"

"Not out loud."

"Ah, so you're the thought police as well now, are you?"

He grinned. "Worried?"

"Too bloody right I am."

His smile broadened and then subsided again as he looked at her, his eyes noting for the first time the unusual definition and extent of her makeup, realisation hitting him tersely in the gut as his mind caught up to his observations. _Oh, shit. Not again..._ "Everything alright?" he asked,_ sotto voce_, determined to keep his tone gentle despite the rage coiling unpleasantly along the length of his spine.

She blinked, glancing at him sideways and registering his concern before looking away once more. "Fine."

"Don't bullshit me, Grace; are you hiding bruises underneath all that war paint or what?"

She swallowed, forcing away the sudden ball of anguish that threatened to constrict her airway. "Don't, Boyd. Please."

"Tell me I'm wrong then."

"Look, can't we just drink champagne, celebrate the long overdue success on this case, and forget everything else?"

He sighed heavily. "I'll give you five minutes..."

"That's generous when we're talking about escapism..."

"...and then I want to know, alright? You can't carry on like this, Grace."

"I don't want to talk about it. Not today, Boyd, please."

He was quiet for several moments then, the barely concealed anguish in her voice convincing him of her acute need for space, for an evasion of reality, however temporary, and he fought every instinct in his body to continue to press her for information.

"So, what's next for you, then?" he asked eventually, purposefully changing the direction of the conversation despite the nagging intuition in his skull in relation to her seemingly crippling reticence, his eyes flickering across the room as he felt her sigh at his side.

"I presume you're talking about work?"

"Since you banned me from any other topics of conversation…."

Her sigh deepened, the breath rattling through the bones of her chest. "Boyd…."

"Oh come on, Grace; I'm trying here." He ran a hand roughly through his hair. "Yes, I was talking about work, for Christ's sake."

She blinked, grateful for his determined efforts beneath the black veil cloaking her shoulders, and she forced a small smile. "I suppose I'll be increasing my hours again at Broadmoor. Taking on some more patients…."

"You don't sound like that's a particularly attractive prospect."

She shrugged. "I enjoy the police consultancy work; I can't deny that."

"But?"

"But it's all-consuming…and with the way things are….Broadmoor makes the most sense."

He raised an eyebrow. "For you, personally? Or are we just talking about your circumstances?"

"It's not just about me, Boyd."

"I know that. But equally…are you really telling me you'd turn it down if you got offered another consultancy contract?"

She gave a shuddering sigh. "God, I know it's selfish but…I don't think it's likely, no."

He shook his head incredulously. "How is it selfish if it brings in extra income for your family?"

"Because it's not just about the money, is it? Over these past few months on this case I've barely seen my kids, I haven't been there to help with Jack….It's just…it's not a realistic occupation for someone in my situation, that's all."

"But you still don't think you could say 'no'?"

"I think my intellectual curiosity would get the better of me. For better or worse."

"And you'd then spend the whole of your time feeling guilty."

She inclined her head. "It's a perpetual state of being for me these days, Boyd. I'm getting used to it."

He sighed loudly before reaching once more for the champagne bottle, the amber liquid bubbling into both of their glasses, his eyes drifting towards her as she took a generous draw and settled back at his side, her features contorting briefly in obvious discomfort before her well-practised façade of calm fell back into place. He frowned deeply, the sickening sensation pervading his gut reasserting itself as he watched her struggle to conceal her inner turbulence beneath a veneer of measured control.

"Grace?" he prompted momentarily, his brow furrowing further at her responding heavy exhalation. "Your five minutes are up, you know."

"Are we really back on this again?"

"I'm like a dog with a bone," he intoned wryly. "What's going on?"

She shook her head firmly, trying to dislodge the crushing anxiety which threatened to overwhelm her senses, pushing away the nagging sting of pain that danced the length of her torso. "Nothing's going on."

"So if I were to rub my hand across your cheek, I wouldn't uncover a whole shitload of bruises beneath the makeup, then?"

She gave him a sideways glance, willing away a sudden desire to feel his fingers caressing her skin, and she supressed another sigh. "Boyd…."

"Just tell me, Grace."

"And what would be the point, exactly?"

He looked at her incredulously. "Are you being serious?"

"It wouldn't change anything and I…." She broke off abruptly, unable to stop herself from wincing as she felt the searing pain which lanced through her side multiply in intensity and she inhaled sharply in response, feeling him shift tensely beside her even as she squeezed her eyes closed.

"What is it?" he asked gently, half-turning towards her to instinctively brush his hand against her waist, his features drawn with concern.

She swallowed and shook her head wordlessly, desperately trying to will away the shards of agony shooting through her ribs. "Nothing. It's…nothing."

"Bollocks," he intoned firmly, his palm slipping up her ribcage to investigate the source of her discomfort, despising himself for an overwhelmingly powerful desire to cup her breast, his hand halting in its movement as he felt her stiffen, the breath shuddering harshly from her body. "About there?"

She nodded rapidly, her eyes fluttering closed once more and she gripped his wrist to prevent any further contact of his fingers with her injured torso. "Boyd…."

He blew out his breath in an attempt to control the fury that was burning hotly through the walls of his veins. "Christ, Grace…what the fuck has he done to you?"

"I'm fine….I just…slipped when I was walking down the stairs and I…."

"He pushed you down the stairs?"

"Didn't say that…."

"You didn't have to." He gave a frustrated sigh, anxiety pulsating through his chest. "Jesus Christ, Grace…."

"Just leave it, Boyd. I'll be fine in a minute."

He looked at her intently then, watching the tiny creases and contortions of emotion as they rippled across her features in a gargantuan effort to regain her mastery over her pain, to wrestle her obvious distress back to the depths of her being. He shook his head almost imperceptibly, his proceeding action solidifying in his mind, the words forming on his lips unbidden, an intense need to protect her uppermost in his soul.

"I'm taking you to hospital," he said decisively, moving swiftly from his stationary position and reaching for her hand without further conscious thought, ignoring her soft sounds of lacklustre protest as he led her towards the room's exit.

The car was cloaked in an oppressive silence as Boyd drove rapidly along the road, his mood darkening intensely with every yard they moved towards the direction of her home. She had been thoroughly examined by an Accident and Emergency doctor at the hospital who had diagnosed three cracked ribs and multiple facial contusions, and who had proceeded to grill her intently as to their origins, Grace becoming increasingly more evasive beneath the barrage of probing questions, her expression hardening into blankness as her defences thickened inexorably. Boyd had thrown up his hands in frustration when the doctor had made an impassioned plea for her to seek help, grimacing apologetically towards the younger man as he had hurried to follow Grace's impatient exit from the building, barely able to match her pace as she marched past the reception, her bag of prescription painkillers held grudgingly at her side.

* * *

They had entered his car wordlessly beneath a palpable cloud of agonising tension, Boyd instantly realising the futility of lecturing her and instead starting the engine and beginning to drive, fighting every instinct in his body to take her anywhere other than back to her home, painfully aware that she would vehemently insist on it as her only desirable destination, disregarding both his intense concern and her own future safety in the process.

Presently he slowed to a halt, rousing from the frighteningly distracted daze he was suddenly aware he had been ensconced in since beginning the journey, stifling a sigh as he stole a glance across at her, her face in partial shadow beneath the artificial sodium glare from the street lamp.

"I'm not happy about this," he opened harshly, his voice raw against the edges of his throat as he addressed her, his concern deepening immeasurably as he noted the darkly blank expression pervading her delicate features.

"I know you're not," she sighed softly, her gaze drawn to her tightly folded hands, unable to bring her eyes to his.

"I feel like I'm…delivering you right back to him."

Grace barked a short, mirthless laugh. "It's where I belong."

"Is it?" He blew out his breath hotly, the air ricocheting around the bones of his chest. "You know what I'm going to say, don't you?"

She blinked, forcing herself to turn her head to face him as she supressed another sigh. "Yes…just like you know what my answer will be."

Boyd felt frustrated anger well volcanically through his stomach, acidic at the back of his tongue. "How can you defend him, Grace? We're talking serious domestic violence here…."

"He's not well…."

"Oh, change the fucking record."

"It's a fact, Boyd."

"Well, brain tumour or no brain tumour…maybe a criminal charge would make him think twice the next time he raises his fists to you or decides to throw you down the stairs."

She shook her head firmly. "You're not listening."

"And neither are you. Or, worse, you're choosing not to hear me."

She drew a cleansing breath, willing calm to her bloodstream as she closed her fingers about the door handle. "Thanks for the lift."

He reached for her free hand, his fingers gripping her wrist in a desperate attempt to halt her impending exit from the car. "Grace…."

"Goodnight, Boyd."

"I don't want to leave things like this…."

"Call me if you're ever in need of a profiler."

He exhaled noisily, a sense of utter futility griping in his stomach as she twisted away from him and stepped from the vehicle, rushing headlong up the pathway to her house without a backward glance, her shoulders hunched tersely beneath the light swathes of her summer jacket. _ I can't believe that's it….I just can't…._With bitter determination he swallowed the rigid lump which had formed oppressively in his throat and slid the car into gear, feeling the inky blackness of the starless night closing in ominously as he drove numbly back towards the station.

TBC


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer, Pairing & Content**: See chapter 1.

**Rating**: M, for sexual situations & language.

**A/N**: This chapter continues directly from the previous one, in terms of timescale….and I feel it only fair, without giving too much away, to give you a cold shower warning! Look away now if that's not your bag ;) My sincere thanks to **shadowsamurai83** and **Gemenied** for their help with this chapter – your input is always appreciated so thank you both very much x

* * *

**July ****1990**

_I just can't do this anymore. I can'__t. I can't breathe beneath the weight of it. I'm literally suffocating….Oh, Christ, I'm a terrible person…that I'm even contemplating this, that it's even entered my head…or my heart. This could destroy everything, could cause my whole life to implode…but I don't think I can stop myself. I'm so fucking tired. So completely fucking tired…in every possible way….and I can't see any other way forward….I just need to forget, just for a while…._

Grace pulled her emerald cardigan tightly about her shivering frame, her body chilled to the bone despite the seasonably warm night, the breath leaving her lungs in shallow gasps as she fought to control the minute convulsions beneath her skin in anticipation of her proceeding actions. With a concerted effort she forced her legs to obey her as she moved slowly along the length of the corridor, her limbs heavy, increasingly leaden with every step she took towards her destination. She was unable to prevent her hand from trembling as she reached out to push open the door, inhaling slowly in a desperate attempt to slow the thunderous battering of her heart against her ribcage, the agonising pressure crushing her chest. Within a few yards she had crossed the bullpen and reached the threshold of his domain, stepping through the open door almost unconsciously, her blood pulsating furiously through her veins as a sudden rush of adrenaline threatened to overwhelm her.

Boyd looked up immediately, the papers in his hand falling forgotten to the desk in front of him, shock jolting through his chest at the identity of the unexpected visitor. He had spent the hours since they had parted seething with self-directed irritation, burning with unresolved frustration, even as he attempted to distract himself with paperwork. Her face had swum unceasingly behind his eyelids, a bitter combination of guilt and regret surging relentlessly through his bloodstream as he pondered their final words until he had surrendered to the anguish and downed two large measures of whiskey in quick succession, the warming sensation in his chest only briefly masking the perpetual ache.

"Grace?" he opened softly, unable to prevent confusion from grating at the edges of his tone, his features compressing beneath the weight of his frown as he noted the pale hue to her skin, the barely controlled shaking she was clearly trying to conceal. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I don't…." She broke off and sighed shakily, her fingers nervously kneading the shoulder strap of her bag. "I needed to see you."

"It's past midnight." _And after all that you said…? I wasn't sure I'd ever see you again…._

"I know. I took an educated guess that you'd be here."

He looked at her intently across the expanse of the room. "Has something else happened?"

She shook her head minutely. "I haven't even been inside my house."

"Then, what…?"

"I've been…I've just been driving…."

He raised his eyebrows, his sense of unease deepening at the blank monotony of her voice. "For three hours?"

She blinked as if emerging from a fog. "Is that how long it's been?"

"Since I dropped you off? Yeah." He rose from behind his desk and stepped towards her, her fingers icy to the touch as he took her hand and led her slowly towards his couch. "Come and sit down, Grace."

She shook her head firmly, the breath shuddering from her lungs as she squeezed his hand to prevent his further movement. "I don't want to sit down."

"Well, I think you need to; you look like you're about to fall over."

"I mean it. I'm fine."

He exhaled loudly, irritably, though his fingers remained linked with hers. "So, what_ do_ you want, then? Seriously, Grace; what are you doing here?"

She took a small step towards him, her cerulean eyes deepening with intensity in the soft light of his office as she looked at him, the air between them suddenly electrified with tension, crackling with heat. "Take me somewhere, Boyd," she whispered hoarsely, the words almost faltering against her larynx as her mind rebelled desperately against their inevitability.

He looked at her for a long moment, the meaning of her words abundantly, agonisingly clear and he fought every compulsion searing through his body to pull her flush against him, to claim her mouth, to let her feel his suddenly aching arousal. He took a deep, centring breath, squeezing his eyes closed briefly before opening them to look at her once more, registering the uncertainty, the anxiety rippling across the surface of her expressive eyes.

"Grace…," he breathed softly, suppressing a sigh as she blinked her gaze away from him, her features contorting as she struggled to control the ragged inhalations of her breathing. "Do you know what you're saying?"

She laughed humourlessly, the sound hollow in her throat. "I know exactly what I'm saying."

He was unable to prevent himself from stepping closer towards her. "Do you?"

"I'm not stupid, Boyd…."

"No. But, to be frank, you're…fragile at the moment and…."

"Meaning I can't control what's coming out of my mouth, is that it?"

"For God's sake, Grace." Boyd blew out his breath forcefully and ran a hand roughly through his hair. "It's not exactly the height of morality for someone like you, is it?"

She reached for his left hand, running her fingers across his knuckles as she sought her target. "The last time I checked, Boyd, I wasn't the only one of us wearing a wedding ring."

"True," he conceded guiltily even as he unconsciously caressed her hand, images of Mary flickering unbidden through his mind before he could dismiss them. "But I'm…effectively separated…."

"Though not divorced."

He exhaled noisily. "This isn't about me."

"I know it's not."

"My marriage isn't the one in question here…."

She gave a shuddering sigh. "Have I read you wrongly over the past few months, Boyd? Do you not want…?"

"Jesus Christ, Grace." He passed a hand shakily across his features, desire pulsating anew through his bloodstream.

"Just tell me I'm wrong and I'll walk back out of the door…."

He sighed heavily, extricating his fingers from hers before placing his hands gently on her shoulders, the agony of indecision settling uncomfortably in his stomach despite the powerful stirrings of his heart. "I just want you to be sure about this. I've been there before, remember, and the…deception isn't an easy thing to deal with, regardless of the situation."

Grace swallowed hard, her voice catching against the edges of her throat. "I don't want to think anymore, Boyd…."

"Grace, I…."

She laid a shaking palm against his chest. "I don't want to rationalise or analyse….I just want to forget; is that really so terrible?"

He squeezed her shoulders tenderly. "Of course not. I just don't want to be the one to make you feel worse once the fog lifts, that's all."

"None of this is your responsibility."

"Maybe not, but…."

She blinked, pain lancing through her heart as she noted his hesitancy. "But you don't want to get involved in something so complicated."

"I don't want to be the reason you end up even more unhappy than you are now."

She looked at him for a long moment, her chest contracting as she registered the compassionate sincerity radiating intensely from his charcoal eyes, and she felt her breath catch in her throat, painful embarrassment suddenly threatening to consume her beneath the heat of his scrutiny. "I shouldn't have come," she whispered hoarsely, twisting away from him in a desperate attempt to escape from his touch, the feel of his body next to hers.

He caught her firmly, instinctively as she tried to move, his hand snaking about her waist to pull her back towards him, his heart thumping furiously as his opposite hand rose to cup her cheek, his thumb caressing gentle circles across her skin as their eyes locked fiercely together, their mutual breathing ragged as he encouraged her closer towards him. _Oh Christ, I never saw this coming_, he thought desperately, his blood pressure soaring towards an aching peak as he continued to touch her, fire igniting in his veins unbidden at the sensation of her warm skin beneath his fingers. _I want to take her to a hotel, the back of my car, wherever…but I don't want to make things worse….I don't want to compound her pain….I don't want to add another layer of complication to her life. _He suppressed a low groan as she leaned further into his touch, the rationality of his thoughts dissipating suddenly as the instincts of his body began to take over, driving his tender sensitivity progressively further from his mind as she swayed beneath the insistent motions of his hand. _Fuck it_, he thought at once, the sentiment in stark contrast to his previous musings, banishing his remaining doubts to the base of his skull as he looked at her. _I don't want to fight this anymore…whatever the consequences…._

"You shouldn't have," he mumbled throatily, the deep baritone of his voice reverberating through his chest, "but you did…."

"I'm a mess, Boyd. I should just go home…."

"No," he said firmly, his fingers moving to toy with her hair, unable to resist the siren pull of her body, the subtly seductive scent of her perfume which emanated alluringly from her pulse points.

"My kids…."

"Are presumably somewhere else tonight."

She nodded, unconsciously stepping further into his body space. "Yeah."

"So, if you're sure about this…then I'll take you anywhere you want to go…." His thumb moved swiftly to her lips as she began to protest, her soft sigh silenced by the caress of his hand, his fingers along the length of her jaw. "But I'm not taking you back to him, Grace. Not again."

"Boyd…."

"I mean it; what's it to be?"

She released her breath in a shuddering rush at his question, the weight of its significance threatening to suffocate her, to crush her chest, fully aware that her answer could cause an unstoppable shockwave to ricochet through her life, to seep its tendrils into every aspect of her existence, and she closed her eyes, unable to bring herself to reply despite the desperate longing of her heart, the perpetual ache of her body. Against her will, scattered fragments of her recent conversation with her mother-in-law filtered into her consciousness, the older woman's acidic accusations racing uncomfortably to the forefront of her mind as her body flooded with pre-emptive guilt….

"_Are you having an affair, Grace? Is that the real reason behind your long hours at work, your obsessive dedication to the police?"…._

"_One of the policeman, is it?"…._

"…_But it just makes me wonder if you've got a certain...penchant for coppers, that's all."_

….

Grace sighed shakily, agony twisting in her stomach as she fought to supress Anna Sutton's acerbic voice, the notion that she had accurately predicted the seemingly inevitable direction of the psychologist's actions, and she struggled to choke back a sob. _Oh, God…am I really going to do this? After everything Jack and I have been through? He's terminally ill and I'm on the verge of sleeping with another man…What kind of a fucking awful person does that make me? And yet I don't think I've got the strength to stop myself….I just need him to take it all away, just for a moment, just so I can find some space to breathe again, to get my head above the water…. _

Opening her eyes anew she pushed all of her residual uncertainty, all of her agonisingly crushing guilt to the pit of her stomach, her decision solidifying in her mind as she felt herself immeasurably drawn into the obsidian depths of his eyes.

"What I said before," she whispered into the electrified stillness between them. "That I don't want to think…that I just want you to…to…."

Her sentence was abruptly terminated by the sudden presence of his mouth against hers, his lips moving roughly, desperately, and she moaned unashamedly at the unfamiliarity of the sensation, the intoxicating taste of him as his tongue ran sensuously across her bottom lip, seeking the access that she hungrily granted. His hands had both moved to cup her face, his fingers tugging firmly at her hair to control the depth, the pressure of his kisses, his tongue slipping easily over hers as his mouth moved relentlessly, her thoughts increasingly erratic as he kissed her passionately, her breath shuddering in shallow gasps from her lungs as they broke briefly for air. Within seconds he had claimed her mouth once more, swallowing her throaty groans as he manoeuvred her towards his couch, his hands slipping down her body to caress her waist, careful to avoid her injured ribs before sliding across the curves of her backside, a lustful growl escaping his lips as they fell, their limbs instantly intertwining, onto the soft cushions below.

"Boyd…," she moaned huskily as his lips began to worship her neck, his body pressing hers purposefully against the padded seat of the sofa, his name faltering into silence as his hand closed fervently over the generous swell of her breast, his thumb seeking her nipple through the impressible cotton of her top, the delicate lace of her bra. "Oh, God…."

With a frustrated grunt his palm slid beneath her clothing, the progressively uneven timbre of her breathing fuelling the searing heat of his arousal, encouraging the movement of his fingers across the velvet skin of her stomach until they brushed against her breast, their mutual groans deepening as he began his determined caress, teasing her nipple into a single, aching peak.

"Not here…," she gasped anew as she struggled desperately to organise the wanton haze of her thoughts, desire crackling through her body and pooling achingly between her thighs.

"Too late, "he replied wolfishly as he moved to kiss her once more, grinding his hips hard against hers, sucking her tongue fiercely into his mouth to quiet her responding moan, unable to prevent a smile as her body pressed back against his, one of her legs wrapping firmly about his thigh to encourage his increasingly closer movement towards her.

He reached for the waistband of her skirt then, his nimble fingers deftly negotiating the zip and forcing the swathes of material across the swells of her hips and down the lengths of her thighs, thrills of anticipation rippling through his body. _Jesus Christ_, he thought fervidly as his hand teased the silken edges of her underwear, feeling himself engorge further as he touched her, her rapid, uneven panting compounding his arousal as he moved to kiss her torso.

Grace choked back a sob as his lips traversed tenderly across the painful expanse of her ribcage, his fingers simultaneously manoeuvring her underwear southwards, his intention clear, her hand instinctively moving to prevent his further movement as an excruciating sense of guilt gripped at her chest anew.

"No," she managed, aware that the protest sounded pathetically weak, her body threatening to betray her as his tongue located its target, shards of intense pleasure cascading through her veins as he supplied the most intimate of caresses with his mouth. "Not even Jack…not for years…."

He raised his head to look at her, his rapture intensifying as he noted the flush to her cheeks, the deepening hue of her sapphire eyes. "Let me," he intoned fiercely, the words growling from his throat before dipping his tongue to taste her once more. "Jesus, Grace…just _let_ me…."

She was instantly lost as he continued to worship her, all remaining thoughts of her husband obliterated as his mouth drove her higher with a dextrous expertise, her fingers gripping hard against the cushions beneath her as she fought every instinct to press herself wantonly against him. Within moments she could feel the tantalising beginning of her climax, the exquisite tingling in her extremities and she grabbed roughly at his hair, pulling him away from her and back up towards her mouth, her entire being focussed on an intense need for possession.

He understood immediately, claiming her mouth with a groan as his hand joined hers in divesting him of his belt, his trousers and boxer shorts forced frantically down his body to pool unceremoniously about his ankles, a whispered expletive escaping his lips as her fingers curled at once around his length.

"Grace," he breathed hoarsely, a sudden need for confirmation utmost in his mind, even as she began to stroke him insistently, "are you absolutely sure?"

"Boyd…."

"I don't have….We're not using…."

"I don't care," she replied huskily, her mind a scarlet haze of desire, devoid of any notion of consequence, her hands slipping to his buttocks to encourage him ever closer. "Please…."

The ardent longing of her tone drove the last tendrils of residual doubt far from his being and he slipped easily inside her with a deep groan of enraptured completion, her respondent rasping sighs convincing him completely of her utter compliance, the absolute readiness of her body for his. His thrusts were passionate yet tender, aware from the sensation of her that she was hurtling rapidly towards the precipice of delirium as her body coiled almost immeasurably tighter, yearning desperately for release.

With one final, pleasured drive she was screaming, her completely uncharacteristic abandonment shocking her even as the explosion passed her lips, her heart expanding to breaking point as she felt their souls collide. Moments later his body surrendered with a shudder to her enveloping warmth, his essence pouring into her as he gasped her name against the delicate skin of her throat, the intimate connection of their bodies mirrored in the overwhelming sensation of their spirits intermingling, a feeling that threatened to paralyse him as he realised with a start the truth of its extent. _My God…I'm in love with her….I'm completely and totally in love with her….Oh, shit….Shit, shit, shit…._

Grace held her breath as the silence between them elongated uncomfortably, intense embarrassment crippling her senses as he slid slowly from within her, his body shifting awkwardly to a standing position before he turned away to tend to himself, her fingers reaching shakily for her discarded underwear as the oppressively dark cloud of self-loathing reasserted itself, the residual heady glow of her climax fading rapidly as the stark reality of her decision came coldly back into focus. _Oh, Christ…what have I done? _She passed a hand roughly across her eyes as she stood up quickly, an intense need to evade his presence uppermost in her thoughts as she hurriedly stepped back into her skirt, smoothing the material across her body before stooping to collect her bag, her heart pumping furiously as her stomach contorted with guilt.

"Grace?" he queried softly, turning back around in time to see her step towards the door, his chest tightening at the haunted expression decorating her features, the anguish rippling across her eyes.

"I have to go," she said quietly, her voice barely audible, unable to bring her eyes to his beneath the weighty burden of her regret.

He sighed heavily and moved towards her, relief flooding him at her lack of resistance as his fingers drifted to her jawline, tilting her face so that her gaze interlocked with his. "Grace," he murmured tenderly, "look at me."

She blinked, forcing the cloying lump which threatened to suffocate her down the expanse of her throat. "I don't…."

"It wasn't a mistake." His voice was firm, unyielding in its certainty.

"It can't happen again…."

"I'm going to call you. I'll leave it a couple of days…"

"Please, don't…."

"…but I _will_ call you." He bent to brush his mouth against hers. "Alright?"

She nodded wordlessly, powerless to resist the temptation of his words as they sliced effortlessly through the blackened mire of her mind, fully aware that any future attempt to avoid him would be utterly futile but equally conscious of the potential for agony his continuing presence in her life would bring. Not trusting herself to speak further, she extricated her body from his and swept hastily from the room, the tension coiled in every synapse of her being quickening her exit from the building, and she managed to temper her self-directed repugnance until she had slid behind the wheel of her car, her fingers shaking as she attempted to start the ignition. _Oh my God…how could I have done this? And how could I even be thinking of continuing it? I have a husband who needs me, kids who rely on me…and I'm standing on the edge of throwing it all away…and for, what? A brief reprieve from reality? A temporary release from the insanity of pressure? Or…? _She heaved a shuddering sob as the tears began to pour from her eyes, the anguish of culpability churning sickeningly in her stomach, scratching angrily at her heart as a sudden realisation overcame her. _No_, she told herself stiffly, unwilling to acknowledge the sensation as it formed unbidden in her soul, teasing her with the tempting allure of its call. _It's just sex. Far too much is at stake for it to be anything more than that. _Wiping her eyes with determination, she slid the car into gear and drove out into the night.

TBC


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer, Pairing & Content**: See chapter 1.

**Rating**: T, for language.

**A/N**: As usual, I am so sorry this has taken me a long time to update – my muse has been seriously distracted with other things, plus RL has been keeping me busy. And stressed this week. Anyways, thank you all for sticking with this, your support really keeps me going x

* * *

**August**** 1990**

Grace rolled over onto her back beneath the thin cotton sheet, her arm falling across her forehead as her breath escaped from her lungs in a sudden, volatile rush, the familiar sensation of guilt dancing through the confines of her stomach. She had been seeing Boyd for close to a month, their assignations intensely and increasingly passionate, her sense of self-recrimination multiplying in direct proportion with each encounter but unable to keep herself away. For brief moments when she was with him, the dark reality of her universe seemed to melt dramatically away and she was genuinely able to forget her situation, her soul becoming infinitely lighter as he touched her before guilt once more reasserted itself in the sobering light of day.

"You alright?" Boyd asked softly as he shifted beside her, his fingers drifting up to trace lazy circles across her stomach.

She shrugged lightly, interlacing her fingers with his and resting their conjoined hands on her torso, wrestling her anguish to the ground temporarily. "Just the usual."

"Ah."

"Can I ask you something?"

He grimaced. "You're not going to make me think, are you?"

"Don't I always?"

"Go on, then. With a due sense of dread and trepidation."

"Noted." She released his hand and turned onto her side to face him, resting her head against her palm as she leant her weight against her elbow. "How do you do it?"

He frowned. "Do what?"

"How do you always seem so…carefree about all this?"

"Grace…."

"No, I mean it. I'm racked with guilt every single second of every day and yet it never seems to bother you."

He shrugged, an attempt at nonchalance, even as he was aware of his defences beginning to rise. "What can I say? I'm a heartless bastard."

"If that were true, Boyd, I wouldn't be here."

He exhaled noisily. "We're in very different situations, Grace."

"Hm. Something you've never been very keen to discuss."

"I've told you before; my marriage is as good as over."

"But you still live together."

"It's a technicality. I sleep in the spare room, I have done for months."

She blinked, his revelation not surprising her. "Her idea, I take it?"

He rolled onto his back with a heavy sigh, his eyes tracking the intricate patterns of the artex on the ceiling. "Yeah. If it was up to me I'd move out but…she's got this twisted notion that this is somehow better for Joe…."

"You don't think it is?"

"It's fucking weird, Grace. We put on this united front when we're both with him and then head off to bed in separate directions."

"And Mary won't agree to a divorce?"

He smiled thinly. "She thinks that'd be letting me off the hook. She's determined that I'll be there to raise my son and she thinks the only way to do that effectively is if we stay together."

"Well…."

"Oh, Christ; don't tell me you agree with her?"

"It's none of my business."

"Isn't it?" _Because I'd leave her for you in a heartbeat…._

She held up a palm to halt the uncomfortable direction their conversation was headed. "The research that's been done does seem to indicate that children do better in two parent families…."

"It's bollocks," he scoffed. "Doesn't it come down to a child being raised in a positive environment?"

"And your household doesn't qualify?"

He looked at her. "Do you really have to ask that?"

She held his gaze. "I suppose not."

"Good; can we change the subject?" He reached for her as he spoke, his eyes darkening hungrily, but she pulled away with a slight sigh, her hand coming to rest against his chest to halt his further forward motion.

"I need to go," she said softly, her voice tinged with regret, her features slackening into a fond smile as his hand at her hip held her fast. "I mean it, Boyd. It's past eleven."

"So we have time. It'll only take five minutes."

Grace rolled her eyes, her smile broadening. "Speak for yourself."

"Oh, come on, Grace. I think we've got the art of the quickie perfected by now, don't you?"

She blushed despite herself, recalling their various frantic, desperate couplings on the back seat of his car, atop his desk, against a secluded wall at the police station, the effortless and rapid response of her body to his surprising her on each occasion, her conscience increasingly more conflicted as she fought the heady rush of warmth he seemed to instil unbidden in her heart as his body moved within hers.

"Yes, well, that aside," she managed finally, unable to prevent a pleasured moan escaping her lips as his fingers slipped between her legs, forcing herself to clamp her hand to his wrist to prevent the escalation of his passionate attentions. "I really need to go."

He groaned in defeat and rolled away from her, his eyes darting across the curves of her body as she rose from the bed, willing away the involuntary constrictions of his soul as he allowed himself the futile fantasy of spending a whole night with her enveloped in his arms, her satin skin pressed flush against his. _Jesus…what the hell am I doing to myself?_ He mused darkly, watching her as she retrieved her hastily discarded clothing, the body he craved so desperately disappearing beneath the layers of soft fabrics. _ I'll never have all of her…and it's killing me knowing that we're on borrowed time…._

"We still okay for tomorrow?" he asked momentarily, his heart sinking to the depths of his stomach as her chest rose and fell in a heavy sigh.

"I've got to work late tomorrow…."

"They cracking the whip at Broadmoor, then?"

She winced. "Something to do with making up the hours." _That I've spent with you when I was supposed to be there…._

"Right."

She sighed once more, ignoring the pain that sliced through her heart at the resignation in his tone. "Boyd…."

He held up a palm. "Look, I'm sorry. I've got no right to…."

"Haven't you?"

"Because I'm sleeping with you?"

She blinked, anguish twisting in her chest. "I thought…."

He exhaled loudly as her words faltered in the air between them and he rose rapidly from the bed and stepped towards her, catching her waist as she began to turn away from him. "Grace…I didn't mean…."

"It's alright."

"I don't want you to think that's what this is all about for me. I just meant that you're not in any way beholden to me…and if you have to work, you have to work."

_But I want to be beholden to you. I want you to tell me __it wouldn't destroy my children's lives if I left Jack for you….Oh God…._ Grace took a shuddering breath, forcing the oppressive lump which threatened to crush her throat to the pit of her stomach before brushing her mouth across his. "I'll try not to be too long," she said quietly, a soft moan escaping unbidden as he held her firmly, insistently deepening the kiss as his tongue slipped readily between her lips.

"Good," he intoned huskily as she pulled away.

"I'll call you if anything comes up." She rolled her eyes as she caught his roguish expression, the deliberate shifting of his hips against hers. "Now I really have to go."

He grinned and kissed her swiftly once more before releasing her, his amusement fading rapidly as he watched her exit the room with a final, brief smile, the tension in her body clear as she rushed to return to the official, respectable minutiae of her life. Sighing deeply, he sank down onto the bed and ran a hand roughly across his eyes. _Should I just tell her? _he wondered morbidly,_ Should I just tell her and let her decide what she wants? Or am I only looking after my own interests and not considering for a second how fucking complicated it might make her life? Christ, I'm a selfish bastard….but a selfish bastard who's desperately in love, who's never been more in love in his life and I…. _He exhaled again in an attempt to prevent the escalation of the thought, a forceful expulsion of the air from his lungs. _I can't. I can't let her know what she does to me. I don't think she'd ever forgive me. And I couldn't live with that_. The dark notion settled resolutely, despairingly about his shoulders and remained there for the rest of the long night.

TBC


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer, Pairing & Content**: See chapter 1.

**Rating**: T, for language.

**A/N**: Again, my huge apologies for the delay with this…My muse keeps getting distracted with other things! Also, just a warning – I know I could pretty much say this about every chapter with this fic but this one is seriously depressing. Get your tissues out…

* * *

**September**** 1990**

"Where are you going?"

The slight note of accusation lacing her husband's baritone voice stopped Grace in her tracks as she flew swiftly down the hallway of her house and towards the front door. With a soft sigh she turned to face him, her heart twisting keenly in her chest as she noted his pale skin, the dull sheen filming his dark eyes, the delicate wisps of his remaining hair escaping from beneath his baseball cap.

"To work," she replied gently, stubbornly forcing down the wave of guilt that surged through her chest at the continuation of her relentless deception.

"It's Saturday, isn't it, or I am so far gone that I've lost track of the days of the week now?"

Grace took a step towards him. "I'm trying to make up my hours, Jack. We need the money."

He gave a shaky sigh. "Have you got five minutes before you go? There's something I really need to tell you."

She followed him wordlessly as he moved back into the kitchen, her heart beginning to pound uncomfortably with dread, her stomach churning sickeningly as she watched his frail form sink slowly onto a tall stool, his hand gesturing for her to follow suit.

"What is it, Jack?" she asked quietly, barely able to contain the panic she could feel beginning to crackle along her nerve-endings.

"Grace, I…," he faltered haltingly, a further shuddering sigh enveloping his body as he fought to coerce the words past his vocal chords.

She leant forwards and took his hands, trying desperately to ignore the clammy chill to his skin as she caressed her fingers against his knuckles. "What?"

Jack took a deep breath before looking up to hold her gaze, acknowledging the anxiety flickering across the surface of her sapphire eyes. "I've been…seeing a new doctor…for about a month."

Grace inhaled sharply, shock lancing agonisingly through her chest at his words. "You never said. I'd have come with you…."

He shook his head firmly. "I didn't want to drag you away from your work and I…."

"Oh, you're not serious. Please tell me you're not."

"I know what your hours are like. I know the pressure you're under."

_Oh, Jesus Christ…half the time I've been lying in the arms of another man and I…._ "It's not important," she said aloud, willing away a fresh torrent of self-recrimination. "Your health, Jack….What could be more important than that?"

"I just didn't want you to worry."

"So you've been going to these appointments _alone_?"

The shake of his head was almost infinitesimal. "My mother…."

Grace blinked back the tears that were suddenly threatening to overwhelm her. "You should have told me," she whispered hoarsely.

"I'm telling you now….and, Grace….I wish it was better news."

She looked at him, registering the anguish that was emanating from every pore of his being, and she felt the breath leave her body in a rush. "What are you saying?"

He sighed heavily. "That according to the latest batch of tests….I've got a few months, at best. There's nothing else they can do for me now."

"But…you're still having treatment, you're…."

"It's palliative, Grace. It has been for weeks."

She swallowed, unable to completely dislodge the ball of torment that was threatening to constrict her airway. "Why didn't you tell me?" she asked after several seconds had passed, her voice thick with emotion.

He exhaled gently. "I told you; I didn't want you to worry about me and I…."

"I'm your _wife_," she breathed incredulously, choking back a sob. "Your wife, Jack."

"I wanted to protect you…."

"I can't believe…," she faltered shakily, rising to her feet and holding up a trembling palm towards him. "I can't do this. Not now."

He stood to meet her, desperate to conceal the depth of the sorrow he knew was reflected in his eyes. "You should go. I don't want to keep you."

"I'll be back as soon as I can….We'll talk then; I just need a bit of time…."

"To get your head around it. I know."

She gave a small, fleeting smile before moving from the room, the agony of caging her rapidly spiralling despair almost overwhelming as she flew down the corridor, her throat tightening painfully as she fought desperately for control. Within a few moments she had reached the safe haven of her car, the tears freely flowing down her cheeks as she howled her anguish into the stillness, her head falling heavily onto the steering wheel, her shoulders heaving with her distress. _Oh, Jesus…I thought he was stable, I thought the treatment was working….But it was all a lie….and now we're going to lose him….Oh my God, I'm not ready. I'm just not ready…._She took a shuddering breath, drawing the oxygen roughly into her lungs before expelling it slowly, willing equilibrium to her bloodstream despite the adrenaline crackling harshly through her veins, a determined realisation settling firmly within her mind through the darkening mist of her grief. As if in slow motion she turned the key in the car's ignition and drove numbly away from the curb, her destination set in sombre stone within her heart.

* * *

Boyd padded down the hallway of his home, the gentle knocking at his front door having roused him from the self-imposed fog of his paperwork, and he turned the handle, his eyebrows rising in surprise at the identity of the visitor on his doorstep.

"Grace?" he intoned quizzically, his features creasing into a frown as he noted the severely pale hue to her skin, the anguish etched into every curve of her body. "I thought we were meeting at the hotel…?"

She blinked slowly. "Sorry….Is Mary…?"

"No, no; they're at football….What's going on?"

Grace sighed shakily and wrapped her arms about herself, at once overcome with cold. "Can I come in, Boyd?"

He reached out for her, taking her gently by the arm and guiding her over the threshold, noting the slight shivering in her limbs with a deepening sense of concern as he lead her towards the living room, the significance of her first visit to his house immediately lost amidst the worry that flared hotly in his chest.

He took her hand in his, resisting the urge to pull her closer towards him. "Grace?"

She took a deep breath before forcing herself to meet his gaze, the agony of her preceding words twisting sickeningly in her stomach before she compelled her lips to speak them. "I can't do this anymore," she managed quietly, squeezing his hand briefly before extricating her fingers deliberately from his.

Boyd released the air from his body in a sudden rush, the unexpectedness of her admission impacting him as a physical blow to his chest, his bones buckling beneath the brutality of their weight. "Can't do what exactly?" he asked gruffly, a desperate need to prolong his blissful ignorance careering through his blood.

She sighed wearily. "Don't make me spell it out, Peter. Please."

"I think you're going to have to."

She paused for an intense moment, her eyes locking unwaveringly to his, before replying, "I don't think I can see you anymore."

He exhaled forcefully, anguish swirling in a torrent through his heart at her words. "What the hell's brought this on?" he demanded, unable to prevent the harsh edge to his tone as he battled desperately with the emotion tearing hotly through his blood.

Grace swallowed, forcing away a powerful urge to bare her soul, to confess the truth behind her sudden revelation. _ I can't tell him….I just can't…_Aloud, she said, "Us being married to other people isn't enough?"

"Well, it never was before."

"For God's sake, Boyd…you know how difficult this has been for me, dealing with the constant guilt, the constant deception….I just can't do it anymore, alright?"

He gave a dubious shake of his head. "Something must have precipitated this, Grace. When I spoke to you yesterday, everything seemed fine…or did I read you completely wrongly?"

"It's not as simple as that."

"So, tell me, then; because this seems totally out-of-the-blue to me."

She sighed. "I need to focus on my marriage. That's the best reason I can give you."

"And the fact that your husband is violent, the fact that he didn't think twice about hitting you so fucking hard he broke your ribs….Suddenly all that's okay, is it?"

"He needs my support. He always did…and I've been nothing but selfish by indulging myself with you all these months whilst he's continued to fight his illness alone."

"Are you listening to yourself here?" Boyd exhaled incredulously. "Jesus Christ, has he really got such a hold over you that…?"

"He's my husband, Boyd…and whatever he may have done, that fact remains."

He looked at her for a long moment, registering the stiff monotone to her voice, the tightly coiled set of her shoulders and he felt anger flare uncontrollably in his chest. "So, that's it, is it? You call the shots and I'm expected just to roll over and take it?"

"That's not what I…."

"I don't know why I'm surprised. This has been on your terms from the beginning."

She blinked, the despair in her heart threatening to consume her as she fought with every ounce of strength to maintain control. "I should go."

His eyes had hardened to flint. "Yeah."

"I'm sorry, Peter."

"Don't say that if you don't mean it."

"I really am." _You'll never have any idea how much…._

They stood simultaneously and Boyd was unable to prevent himself from pulling her roughly into his arms, feeling her heave a shuddering breath as he held her firmly against his chest, his body unwilling to release her despite the anguished fury burning through his mind. _Oh, God…I don't want to lose you….I can't….I'd sacrifice it all; my marriage, my son….I'd give anything…._

Grace pulled back momentarily to look at him before brushing a gentle kiss across his lips. "You don't have to listen to this," she intoned softly. "but…."

"But you're going to tell me to give my marriage another go," he finished wryly, the instinctive fluidity of their connection compounding the throbbing ache in his heart.

She gave a small smile that reached nowhere near her eyes. "You'll regret it if you don't," she replied sincerely.

"Yeah, well…that remains to be seen, doesn't it?"

"Promise me you'll at least try."

"What difference does it make to you?"

"It's the right thing to do, Boyd…and deep down you know that as well as I do."

He gave a begrudging conciliatory grunt, releasing her from his arms and following back into the hallway and towards the front door, his hand catching her about the waist as she moved to step atop the threshold.

"Grace," he breathed intensely, the magnitude of her decision multiplying with a renewed sense of despondency in his chest as she stood almost beyond his reach. "Will I see you again?"

She felt her heart shatter beneath the barely concealed desperation in his tone and she blinked rapidly, desperate to assuage the tears that were forming uncontrollably at the corners of her eyes. "I don't think it's a good idea," she whispered hoarsely, stricken by the shards of pain that flashed unbidden across his chestnut eyes.

He took a deep breath, forcibly arranging his features into a mask of neutrality before stepping backwards away from her. "Alright," he acquiesced flatly.

"It's for the best."

"Whatever you think."

She made to kiss him anew then, her soul awash with anguish as he held up a palm to stop her, understanding flaring in her chest as she re-directed herself to grip his hand tightly. "Take care of yourself, Peter."

"You too. I hope it all works out."

She turned away from him before her carefully held emotions could flood uncontrollably from her body, willing herself to keep walking without a backward glance, steadying herself against her car as she heard his front door click softly shut. _Oh my God, I wish things could have been different_, she thought with a sob, her entire being beginning to tremble as she considered the gravity, the significance of her resolute, uncompromising action. _I wish I'd met you before….I can't believe I've had to end it like this….I think I was really starting to fall…._With a shuddering breath she squared her shoulders and slid into her car seat, refusing to allow her mind to dwell on the inescapable truth that had wrapped itself unbidden around her heart, the agonising weight of regret settling relentlessly against the bones of her chest. _I don't have a choice_, she told herself stoically. _I simply can't afford to feel this way…not anymore…._Gritting her teeth, she started the engine and drove slowly away, fighting every instinct to check for his presence over her shoulder.

From his crumpled position on the floor of his living room, Boyd took a determined swallow of whiskey, his eyes closing as devastation washed over him in an unerring wave. For one bitterly insane moment he had hoped she would turn back towards him, her eyes brimming with apology, with regret but the minutes had ticked by and with them the searing pain in his chest had intensified. _I'd have given you everything_, he thought despairingly. _ Everything….I never knew it could be like this, never knew I could feel so fucking…._He poured himself another generous measure before the notion could reach completion, the burning at the back of his throat almost comforting as he surrendered to the siren whisper of self-destruction, of anaesthetic annihilation.

TBC


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer, Pairing & Content**: See chapter 1.

**Rating**: T, for language.

**A/N**: Again, my apologies for the delay with this – one day I might actually manage to get ahead instead of writing and posting one chapter at a time! Also, just a warning – this chapter deals with a character death…and since I don't have any direct experience with anyone close to death, I'm afraid it might not be entirely realistic. I also really hope it doesn't upset or offend anyone, that's certainly not my intention. Anyways, that said, I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint – thanks so much for still reading!

* * *

**January 1991**

"Mrs Sutton? He's asking for you."

Grace glanced up from her haze of exhaustion, her eyes falling upon the familiar young nurse who had called softly from in front of the closed door, her heart splintering ever further as she noted the sad, compassionate smile playing across the medic's lips. She took a steadying breath and rose, trembling, to her feet, biting back a sob as she approached the other woman's position.

The nurse placed a gentle hand atop the older woman's forearm. "He's lucid at the moment but he's very weak. I don't think it'll be too long now."

Grace swallowed hard, unable to dissipate the agonising lump in her throat. "Would someone be able to fetch his mother? She's got the children in the café downstairs and she…."

"Of course…and I'll be just down the corridor if you need me."

Grace forced herself to smile in appreciation before turning and entering her husband's private room. He had been under hospice care for more than a month and she had barely slept during that time; every trill of the telephone brought forth a rush of dreaded fear, and every time she saw him she imagined it might be the last. She was drained to the point of debilitation, traipsing through her daily life in a fog of despair and constantly trying to mask her terror so as not to further traumatise her already devastated children. She had been shocked by her appearance in the mirror that morning, the first time she had forced a self-appraisal in more than six weeks; her skin was almost grey, deep indigo circles chalked beneath her lifeless eyes, her clothes hanging noticeably from her suddenly gaunt frame. _Still_, she thought presently, her stomach twisting bitterly, _it's not like it matters anymore. It's not like__** I**__ matter….The only thing that matters is that I'm about to become a widow, that my children are about to lose their father…._

He had survived for far longer than the medical professionals had thought possible, even given his terminal diagnosis some four months previously, and they had largely been able to manage his pain successfully, his final admission to the hospice accepted in relative peace, though Grace worried constantly about his levels of denial. She drew a sharp breath as she laid eyes on him lying in the comforting stillness of the soothingly decorated room; his eyes were closed, his breathing rattling and shallow, his skin of a sickeningly pale hue, pierced through with various needles attached to drips to meter out his considerable pain relief. She fought an almost overwhelming rush of sorrow as she reached for his hand and took a seat beside him, her heart constricting as his eyes flickered open to look at her, confusion creasing his expression before realisation at her identity asserted itself.

"It's me, my love," she opened softly, her thumb rubbing gently across the unnaturally cold expanse of his knuckles. "How are you feeling?"

Jack blinked slowly as his brain struggled to interpret her words. "Grace…?"

"Do you need me to call someone to adjust the morphine?"

He gave an infinitesimal shake of his head, wincing slightly at the movement, his features contorting briefly in pain before the sensation subsided once more. "Need to talk to you…."

"I don't think it's a good idea, Jack…."

"Please," he begged throatily. "Don't have much time."

"You need to focus on resting, on letting go, on…."

"This might help...me find peace. Please, Grace."

Grace fought back the sob that threatened to escape relentlessly from her body and she gripped his hand ever tighter. "Alright," she breathed shakily. "What is it?"

He drew a shallow, shuddering breath and closed his eyes briefly to centre himself before speaking again. "I want you to be happy."

She frowned, blinking rapidly to clear her vision. "What?"

"Want you to find….someone….when I'm gone…."

"No, Jack," she recoiled in horror, guilt flaring excruciatingly in her chest as bittersweet memories flooded her consciousness. "How can you even think about that…?"

"Not right now but…you'll need someone…."

"I'm not having this discussion."

"Need you to promise me, Grace."

"I can't," she sobbed desperately, her tenuous control buckling beneath the weight of his words. "I can't."

"Another man…." He broke off abruptly with a groan as pain griped intensely along the lengths of his bones, crackled wildly through his blood. "Please…."

"Jack…."

"There was someone….wasn't there?"

_Oh, Jesus; he knew. He always knew.__ He was dying and he knew I was being unfaithful…._Grace released a strangled cry, suddenly consumed with intense recrimination, with overwhelming, sickening guilt, and she was powerless to prevent anguished tears from spilling unbidden down her cheeks and over the hands that had risen instinctively to cover her face. "Oh God, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

He reached out to touch her hair, his hand trembling with the effort, his vision beginning to blur. "No need," he whispered hoarsely.

"It's been over for months. I never meant for it to….Oh, God, Jack…."

"I was…total bastard…."

"_No_," she intoned vehemently, leaning into his touch and bringing her palm up to cover his hand. "No. It was all my fault."

"Just want you to be happy."

"_You_ make me happy. It's always been you."

"Grace….No time….Promise me…."

"Forgive me."

He gasped sharply in agony before finding the strength to compose himself once more, raising her cheek to look directly into her eyes, his heart splintering at the depths of sorrow pooling unrelentingly within her expressive orbs, his concentration intense as he forced his sluggish brain to cooperate. "Without hesitation, my love."

She was crying unrestrainedly now, her whole body shaking violently, the gentle compassion in his tone almost too much for her to bear. "Please don't leave me," she whispered desperately, unable to stop the words despite being acutely aware of their innate selfishness, desolation crushing her heart and threatening to consume her in its inescapable entirety. "Please, Jack."

He drew a rasping breath and gripped her harder. "So sorry."

_Oh, God, what am I doing? How can I even think of saying that to him?_ Grace shook her head firmly, gulping air into her lungs in an attempt to assuage her anguish, her shameful mortification. "Don't you _dare_ apologise. You've fought this as hard as you could for so long…."

"Wish I had more time."

"I know."

"The kids…."

"They're on their way, Jack. Just try to hold on until they get here, alright?"

They lapsed into silence then and Grace felt her despair intensify with each laboured breath she could hear gurgling from his stricken body. _I can't believe it's come to this_, she thought wretchedly. _We're all being cheated out of our future…and there's nothing anyone can do to stop it…._

"Do you love him?" Jack whispered shakily, after several moments had passed, opening his eyes to look squarely at her, and Grace felt his words like a heavy blow to her chest, physically recoiling as her mind tried desperately to process them.

"How can you ask that?" she replied, distress lacing every edge of her tone, her stomach knotting painfully as she fought against the truth that was nagging incessantly at the base of her skull.

"Do you?"

"It was nothing. A stupid, selfish mistake."

"Does he love you?"

_I think he could have. I really think he could have….__and I was so in love with him I couldn't even stand it…._ She supressed a gasp, the affirmation bursting through her consciousness in an explosion of heat and she blinked furiously, expelling further inconsolable tears in rivers down her cheeks. "It doesn't matter, Jack."

"I love you, Grace. Always have….Want him…to take of you."

She leant forward to kiss his hand, pressing her lips desperately to the clammy, almost translucent skin. "I love you, too; so, so much, Jack."

"Don't think I can….Just want to close my eyes…."

She took a shuddering breath to reply, interrupted by a soft knocking at the door and the appearance of her eldest daughter's head about the frame. "Mum?"

Grace gestured towards her, watching as the door opened fully and all three children stepped tentatively into the room, along with Anna Sutton, the older woman's face contorted with distraught grief. "Come on," Grace bade gently, her voice catching raggedly against the edges of her throat. "Come and kiss Dad goodbye."

* * *

"Well, that was a fucking waste of time. If you're not even going to be honest, Peter, what's the bloody point?"

Boyd took a deep breath and closed his eyes in defence against the vitriolic diatribe from his wife, her words striking him sharply in the back as she hurried down the corridor behind him. They had been seeing a relationship therapist for the previous three months, almost from the moment he had announced his intention to give their marriage one final try, Mary's initial scepticism eventually giving way to a tentative optimism as they had both launched themselves with enthusiasm into the programme. In the depths of his heart, Boyd was more than aware of the reasons behind his apparent renewed ardency towards his marriage; in the aftermath of his split from Grace he had found himself listless and desolate, hurtling inevitably towards a black depression, a desperate need to refocus his energy, to vanquish her from his heart consuming him with every day that passed. He had eventually reached a decision, backing Mary roughly against the wall of their hallway one night and kissing her into submission, forcing away the ache in his heart as images of Grace played relentlessly behind his eyes. His wife had been astounded by the change in him, intensely suspicious by his uncharacteristic shift in attitude, and she had grilled him incessantly, insisting they see a counsellor before any long-term decisions could be made about their future. Boyd had obeyed dutifully, desperately trying to engage throughout each session despite the gnawing doubts plaguing his soul, the continued sublimation of his true desires increasingly exhausting him as the weeks had gradually lengthened into months.

"Peter! Are you even listening to me?"

Presently he drew another calming breath, counting slowly inside his skull in a determined effort to maintain his veneer of control, and he turned on his heel to face her. "Of course I am. But I'm not doing this here."

"Well, you didn't want to do it in there either," she replied hotly, her emerald eyes flashing. "For God's sake…."

"I mean it. If you want to lay into me, let's at least go outside first."

Mary blew out an exasperated breath, pushing past him and out of the building, her thunderous expression leaving him in no doubt as to her expectation, and he followed her reluctantly, the tension across his shoulders magnifying as she rounded instantly upon him.

"What the hell was all that about in there?" she demanded immediately. "Why couldn't you just answer the question?"

"I did answer the question. It isn't my fault if you don't like the answer."

"Well, that's just the point: I _did_ like the answer. I just don't believe it."

Boyd threw his hands into the air with frustration. "What do you want me to say?"

"I want you to tell me the truth. If we're really supposed to be making one final go of this then I need to know."

"Mary…."

"Did you have an affair, Peter?"

He sighed heavily, fighting desperately against the memories of Grace's satin skin pressed flush against his, the taste of her mouth, the sound of her voice groaning his name into the darkness. _Oh, Jesus Christ….I can't tell her….I can't…._ "You know I did," he intoned with a determined neutrality.

"I mean other than with Jess bloody Worrall."

"That isn't enough for you?"

"Oh, don't."

"I can't go back and change it, Mary. Believe me, if I could, I would."

"Stop trying to get out of answering the question. That's exactly what you were doing in our session just now."

"I'm not…."

"So, go on, then: other than Jess Worrall, has there been anyone else?"

He looked at her, absorbing the carefully concealed hurt flickering across the surface of her eyes, the tiny ember of hope that she was stoically trying to suppress, and he took a step towards her, guilt churning fiercely anew in his stomach even as he placed a gentle hand atop her shoulder.

"No," he said softly, the anguish in his heart intensifying at the deliberateness of the fallacy.

Mary sighed sadly and squeezed her eyes closed before opening them once more to look at him. "How can I believe you?"

"I don't know how to answer that."

"If you're lying to me, Peter…."

"I'm not…."

"…then that's it, do you understand? I know I said I wouldn't give you a divorce but I…I really don't think I could stand to even be in the same house as you if I knew you'd been unfaithful twice…."

He bent swiftly to kiss her, the cold truth of transgression twisting agonisingly in his gut as her words echoed relentlessly about the bones of his skull, and he cupped her delicate face in his palms as he pulled away. "You need to let this go," he told her gently, biting back the sense of hypocrisy crackling hotly through his synapses.

She gave a shuddering sigh. "I just….I can't shake the feeling that you're still not telling me the truth…."

"I don't know how to convince you."

Her eyes searched his, desperately seeking sincerity. "Do you promise me, Peter?"

_Oh, God…._ "Yes," he replied firmly, self-loathing cloying in his throat as he caught the tentative trust, the hesitant relief in the slight slackening of her facial muscles, the infinitesimal relaxation in her tense posture. "Now can we please go home? It's bloody freezing out here."

She gave him a small smile and allowed him to steer her towards and into their car, his heart pounding furiously in his chest as he hesitated by the driver's door, his hand shaking as he drew it roughly across his face. _Jesus Christ, what the hell am I doing?_ He thought darkly. _I just lied through my teeth to the woman I'm meant to be sharing everything with, the woman who's given me one last-ditch chance to prove I'm not a complete bastard…but how the fuck could I not? How could I possibly tell her I was in love….Shit….__**am**__ in love with another woman? It would destroy her…and any chance we've got of finally making this marriage work._ He inhaled slowly, deliberately, forcing himself to refocus his mind back towards the woman in the car, towards the small child waiting at their home with his grandmother. _For all our sakes, Grace, I need to forget you_, he thought desperately as he finally slid into his seat. _But, Jesus, I wish it was that easy. I wish I didn't feel like my heart is being torn through my chest every time I think about you. I wish…._

With a determined shake of his head, he turned the key in the ignition and drove silently away, resolutely ignoring the deep sorrow resonating incessantly through his chest.

TBC


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer,****Pairing****&****Content**: See chapter 1.

**Rating**: T, for language.

**A/N**: Just a quick note here - when I uploaded this today, the formatting went a bit crazy in parts...I think I've corrected it but if I've missed anyything, I apologise in advance! Thanks so much for reading x

**May 1994**

Boyd drew a heavy breath, the sensation reaching the depths of his lungs, expanding every muscle in his ribcage. He had been staring at the solicitors' documents for more than half an hour, his hand hesitating each time he tried to force his fingers to cooperate in marking the pen across the paper. _If __I __do __this, __that__'__s __it_, he thought morosely._ No __more __last __chances, __no __more __clinging__ desperately__ to __the __edge __of__ hope __and __pretending __it__'__ll __all __end__ differently. _He sighed forcefully into the solitude. They had survived for longer than he had ever imagined. Mary had been fervently anti-divorce at the outset, blindly, deliberately ignoring the crumbling façade of their marriage until even she had reached a plateau of despair, the bitter truth of their mutual failure unable to be circumvented any longer.

It had taken her months to finally admit she had contacted a divorce lawyer. He had reacted in defence, the numbness that pervaded his heart replaced quickly with an overwhelming sense of relief and then, inevitably, with guilt…

…

"_It's all there in black and white, Peter. You just need to sign the papers and return them."_

"_And then that's it, is it?" he scoffed disdainfully. "Were you even going to mention this to me before having it served?"_

_Mary closed her eyes and when she opened them again they were bright with unshed tears. "I've tried, Peter. You must have known how unhappy I…?"_

"_Oh, don't give me that. We were doing better…."_

"_Were we?"_

"_Well, I thought so; those bloody marriage counsellors thought so."_

"_It was all a pretence." She inhaled shakily and rubbed a hand across her exhausted eyes. "I mean, I know you tried. I know you really did."_

"_And that wasn't enough for you?"_

_She smiled sadly. "I wanted to be everything to you, Peter…."_

"_Mary…."_

"…_but I know now that I can't be. Not when you're so obsessively committed to your job."  
_

"_It's who I am. You knew that when you married me."_

"_It's not just that. There's…." She gestured hopelessly, " just this sense I get that you're continually holding back, withdrawing from me. Like you can't let go because ultimately I'm not the one you really want to be with."_

_He made a noise of derision though his heart was suddenly pounding, errant thoughts of Grace Foley spinning unstoppably through his mind. "That's crap."_

"_Don't be so quick to dismiss it. Just think about it for a second."_

_He looked at her, unable to stop the barbs on his tongue. "So should I be thanking you for releasing me, then?"_

_Mary sighed. "As I recall, Peter, you were the one who wanted this…."_

"_Years ago, maybe."_

"_And now?"_

"_I thought things were getting better…." He trailed off, aware that he sounded utterly unconvinced by his own assertion._

_Mary stood up, shifting her bag about her shoulder. "Just…sign the papers, will you? Don't make this any more difficult than it needs to be."_

"_Then pack my things and fuck off; is that it?"_

_Her gaze hardened. "You don't need to make it sound as though I'm kicking you out. You haven't been here for years, Peter. Not in any real sense anyway."_

"_This is still my house, Mary. I'm the one paying the lion's share of the mortgage and I…."_

"_Oh, don't," she dismissed icily. "Otherwise I'll be forced to play the card of making sure our son remains in his home, where he's happy, where he's…."_

"_Don't you **dare** use Joe as a pawn in this," he spat angrily. "Don't you bloody dare."_

"_I'm just looking out for the needs of our child, Peter. I would have thought you'd be doing the same."_

_He drew a sharp breath, desperately trying to suppress the sudden surge of guilt and stoically replacing it with one of righteous indignation. "What's that supposed to mean?"_

_She held up her hands wearily. "Nothing. I really didn't want to get into a fight with you…."_

"_You thought I'd meekly acquiesce to this, did you?" He barked a harsh laugh. "Don't you know me after all these years?"_

"_Yes, I finally do. And therein lies the problem." She smiled despondently. "I'm going to go out for a few hours, give you chance to read through it all…."_

"_You do realise I've got nowhere to go, don't you?"_

"_I'm not talking about you moving out tonight. I just….I wanted to get the ball rolling, that's all. So we can all start moving forwards."_

_A swell of rage flared uncontrollably in his chest and he felt the muscles of his jaw grind viciously together as he fought the embittered onslaught forming in his throat. "I'll be gone by the end of the week," he intoned roughly, his voice resonating deeply through the breadth of his chest._

"_Peter…."_

"_Now, piss off, will you? Apparently I've got some reading to do."_

…

He sighed heavily as he recalled the intense flicker of hurt raking across her eyes at his bluntness, the dejected slump to her shoulders as she turned away from him and stepped out of the house. True to his word, he had quickly found a flat across the river, the physical distance almost a deliberate statement of their emotional separation, and they had had little contact in the three months since he had packed a few meagre belongings into a bag and quietly slipped away. Joe had been predictably distraught, his behaviour increasingly destructive and erratic, the nine-year-old's temper worrying Boyd to the depths of his soul. The resultant guilt was at times almost more than he could bear, the helplessness he felt at the situation threatening to constantly overwhelm him. ___And there's nothing I can do to change it_, he thought bitterly. _Christ, maybe that's why I'm having so much trouble signing the papers…because I'm so afraid of fucking up his life beyond all recognition….I don't want to be one of those arsehole absent fathers…_He released a shuddering breath at the notion and then quickly supressed it._This is ridiculous_, he told himself firmly._It's not as if there's any other way…or as if being divorced from his mother is a guarantee for a lifetime of problems…._.With a determined effort he began to sign his name, an ironic laugh escaping his lips as his telephone gave a well-timed trill into the silence, and he instantly dropped the pen, reaching across to lift the receiver. _Saved__ by __the__ fucking __bell__…_

"Hello?"

"DCI Boyd?"

"Speaking," he replied curtly, his mask of professionalism falling instantly into place and sublimating his melancholia, the novelty of his new rank rattling crisply against his ear.

"This is PC Gill from Semley Place station in Belgravia. We've got a suspicious death, sir, and my Sergeant was keen for me to contact you…."

"Who's your Sergeant?"

"Stuart Turner. He's…."

"Yeah, I know Stuart. Bring me up to speed, then; I'm listening."

As the junior officer began to speak, Boyd reached for a notebook, deliberately pushing away the ominous legal documentation and with it his lingering sense of recrimination and self-loathing. _She__'__s __waited__ for__ three __months_, he thought even as he began to write, his intelligent mind absorbing the details being conveyed down the telephone line. _She__ can__ wait __another __day_.

* * *

Grace jumped slightly as the sound of the front door being slammed forcefully shut startled her from her paperwork and she frowned as she glanced at her watch. _God ,__how __can __it __be __four __thirty __already?_ She thought with a sigh, rising to her feet and wincing as the distinct sounds of squabbling teenagers drifted up the stairs towards her. She took a moment to take several deep breaths, willing a sense of serenity to her weary nerves as she stepped towards the fray.

"Mum!" the youngest Sutton sibling called loudly as she caught sight of her mother descending the stairs. "Gina's taken my Walkman and she…."

"Do I not even get a 'hello' these days?" Grace asked mildly as she reached two of her three children, her amusement magnifying as her daughter sighed theatrically and her son ducked his head to avoid her kiss.

"She's in a totally foul mood," Beth replied sullenly, studiously ignoring her mother's question. "She snatched my Walkman right out of my hands and stomped off to her room! Honestly, Mum, she's such a cow at the moment, I don't know why we have to put up with all of her mood swings and her…."

"Because she's sixteen, love; and because she's your sister."

"Yeah, well, it's not fair."

Grace resisted a powerful urge to laugh. "That's fast becoming the standard phrase of choice in this house."

"That's because there's too many girls in it," Nick complained sourly, rolling his eyes towards Grace and stomping off in the direction of the kitchen.

The psychologist stifled a sigh, her son's words a painful reminder of the absence of their father, and she swallowed hard before addressing Beth anew. "Did Gina say what was bothering her?"

"No. She never tells me anything. She's a bully, Mum; are you going to ground her?"

"I'll go and talk to her. You go and get a drink and then then get on with your homework, alright?"

"Can I have a biscuit?" The eleven-year-old's blue eyes were pleading.

Grace smiled fondly. "Just one."

Beth grinned triumphantly and followed her brother's path to the kitchen, Grace feeling her own smile dissolve instantly as she stepped foot on the stairs once more. Her children had, for the most part, coped laudably in the years since they had lost their father; they had stoically returned to school in the aftermath and had adjusted to their new life with a maturity that Grace was immensely proud of, each of them seeming to understand the magnified responsibility and pressure their mother was facing and the impact that her increased working hours would have on their lives. The previous few months had admittedly been more difficult; Gina was sullen and temperamental, Nick was uncommunicative and stubborn, and even Beth had begun displaying more stereotypical teenage behaviour, despite her relative youth to her siblings. The overall effect had been a heightened sense of tension throughout the household and, coupled with her extensive Broadmoor workload, Grace had found herself increasingly exhausted, the pressures of lone parenthood a persistent and relentless weight across her shoulders.

Drawing a deep breath she tapped lightly on her eldest daughter's door, running a hand across her face as she willed patience to her bloodstream. "Gina?" she called softly. "Are you going to let me in?"

"Go away," the teenager snapped loudly, her voice muffled through the wooden barrier of the door.

"Come on, love. I just want to have a chat…."

"Tell Beth that bloody Walkman is mine, anyway! She stole it from me ages ago!"

"Let me in, Gina. You can settle the perpetual Walkman debate with your sister later."

The young girl sighed loudly, dramatically. "Okay, okay. Come in, then."

Grace turned the door knob and stepped over the threshold, her heart lurching as her eyes fell upon her eldest child, the adolescent's slender form lying prone on her bed, her face half buried in her pillow. Grace approached quietly and took a seat at the foot of the bed, folding her hands serenely in her lap.

"Are you going to tell me what the matter is?" the psychologist asked tenderly, reaching out to caress her daughter's calf and frowning as she felt the teenager tense fractionally. "What is it, love?"

Gina pushed herself to a seated position against the wall and drew her knees up to her chest. "I really don't want to talk about it. Especially not with you."

Grace's frown deepened. "What does that mean?"

"It means….I didn't want to let you in here in the first place…."

"No, it doesn't. What does it really mean?"

"God, I hate it when you do that." Gina pulled a face. "Just because you're a head doctor doesn't make you a mind reader, you know."

Grace gave a wry smile. "Oh, I know. So you're going to have to meet me halfway."

"I told you: I don't want to talk about it. So all this going round in circles is pointless."

"Is it something at school? Problems with your work?"

The teenager rolled her eyes. "Just because your life revolves around work doesn't mean mine does."

Grace steadfastly ignored the note of accusation in her daughter's tone. "So, what? A boy?"

Gina grimaced, her cheeks flushing deeply despite herself. "Mum, for God's sake…."

"A boy, then."

"It's not what you think."

Grace fought to reign in a grin. "And what do I think?"

"That it's a…boyfriend thing. It's most definitely not."

"Alright. But it_ is_ something to do with a boy? Is this person giving you a hard time?"

Gina sighed heavily. "I really don't want to tell you."

"Well, from your tone it sounds like it's something I need to know, love." The psychologist reached forward to take her daughter's hand. "You can tell me anything, Gina. You know that."

The young woman squeezed her eyes briefly closed. "You're not going to like it."

"You let me worry about that. Why don't you start from the beginning?"

Gina exhaled forcefully and opened her eyes, her head falling heavily back against the wall behind her. "There's this new lad in my year, he's just transferred from another school….Toby Morrison…."

"Right…."

The teenager's gaze flickered towards her mother, frowning at her expression of apparent neutrality. "The name doesn't mean anything to you?"

"Should it?"

"Apparently his dad knows you…or knew you, when you used to work for the police."

_Superintendent __Morrison__…__.Oh,__ God__…__._Grace fought the rising torrent of panic which swelled in her chest, memories from the past flooding instantly into her mind, crystal in their clarity. "I did know a Superintendent Morrison," she said carefully. "Years ago."

"Yeah, well…that's Toby's dad….Anyway, I don't know how he knew who I was but as soon as he found out he started saying all these…things. About you."

Grace inhaled slowly, subtly, a sense of dread settling darkly in her gut. "What about me?"

Gina's face contorted briefly and she pushed herself away from the wall, rising from the bed to pace agitatedly before her mother. "Toby's dad…reckoned you had a reputation…."

"Well, of course I did. There weren't that many people doing what I was doing at the time and…."

"Oh, bloody hell, Mum!" the teenager snapped impatiently, irritated by her mother's apparent obtuseness. "He said you were a slag, alright?"

Grace blinked as her daughter's words exploded ominously into the silence between them, willing herself not to react despite the desperate, painful pounding of her heart against her ribs. "I see," she murmured quietly.

Gina continued agonisingly, her hands gesturing wildly. "He apparently said you were…sleeping with at least one of his officers….and now Toby's spread it round the whole year that I'm the daughter of a slapper…."

_Oh, __Jesus __Christ. __That __bastard.__ That __total __and __utter __bastard_. Aloud she willed herself to maintain an even tone as she spoke her daughter's name, the struggle for control of her rapidly spiralling devastation causing a stubborn lump to form in her throat. "Gina…."

"I've thought about this, Mum. About the dates." The teenager's eyes were bright with tears, her voice beginning to crack beneath the strain of her words. "It was before Dad died. I mean, literally, right before…How _could_ you?"

Grace stood up shakily and stepped towards her daughter, placing her hands gently onto her shoulders, despite the young woman's efforts to squirm away. "Listen to me, love," she said softly. "There are always people prepared to start rumours when you work for an organisation like the Police Force, especially when you work closely within a team…."

"So you're saying it's not true. That Toby's just shit-stirring…Why would he do that?"

"Leaving aside your language…."

"Oh, come on, Mum. Bigger picture."

"If he's new to the school he could be trying to get in with a certain crowd the only way he knows how: by spreading malicious gossip…."

Gina's eyes were hard. "It's very specific, though, isn't it? And you haven't actually denied it."

"What I'm trying to say is…that people are always very quick to read between the lines where men and women are concerned. Obviously Superintendent Morrison put two and two together and made five….Although why he'd choose to share that with his son is anybody's guess."

"Oh, Jesus," Gina said, aghast. "So there_ was_ a man? Dad was dying and you were…."

"He was a friend," Grace said firmly, her blood pressure soaring with the agony of her deception. "Someone I could confide in during a very difficult time….Alright?"

"Who was he?"

"He was a policeman, an Inspector on Superintendent Morrison's team. We worked closely together and we became friends…but for some people, Gina, men and women can never just be that, they always have to imply that something else is going on."

Gina looked unconvinced, her eyes desperately searching her mother's for sincerity. "And that's all he was? Just a friend?"

___God, if only that were true. If only I hadn't ached for him every single second we were apart….If only I…_ "Yes," she replied assuredly, cutting through the increasingly guilt-ridden direction of her thoughts.

"So why did this Superintendent make it up, then? He must have seen something and…."

"It's like I said, love. Some people find it very hard to accept a genuine friendship between a man and a woman…but I swear to you…that's what it was."

The teenager took a shuddering breath, her next question leaving her body in a sudden rush. "You _did_ love Dad, didn't you?"

Grace felt her heart splinter at her daughter's obvious need for reassurance and she bit back a sob. "Oh, sweetheart, of course I did." She pulled the young woman roughly into her embrace, feeling Gina's chest heave shakily against her own, her palm moving to soothingly stroke her daughter's hair. "Now, that's the end of this, okay? I don't want to hear any more about it."

Gina nodded wordlessly and sniffed, shifting to press her cheek to her mother's shoulder. "What am I going to do about school, though? I'm sick of being teased by Toby and his friends, and I…."

"I'm going to go in there and have a word with the Head. I'll give him a ring right now and arrange it."

The teenager shook her head vehemently as she pulled away from Grace's arms. "That'll just make it worse."

Grace inclined her head. "I'll speak to Toby's dad, then. How does that sound?"

Gina shrugged. "I don't know if it'll make any difference…."

"I'm sure it will. Once I can set the record straight, as it were, he can tell his son the truth."

"And then Toby can find someone else to victimise?"

"Well, not so much that. But these kind of gossip campaigns tend to be short-lived." She caught her daughter's expression of disbelief and held up a palm. "I know it doesn't feel like it when you're at the centre of one."

"No. It feels like it's going to go on forever."

Grace forced a smile. "Do you fancy a cup of tea, love? You sit up here out of the line of fire of the other two and I'll bring you one up; okay?"

Gina nodded, a small smile flickering across her delicate features. "Thanks, Mum."

Grace squeezed the young woman's arm before stepping from the room, her mask held firmly in place until she had moved beyond the threshold, throwing out a hand to steady herself against the wall as her façade of calm began to crumble. _Oh, God_, she thought desperately. _So now my selfish behaviour all those years ago is having consequences for my children? I had no idea Morrison knew….Does that mean the whole station did? Christ, if I ever want to go back to police work I'm sure my reputation will precede me….Not that that's important right now. What's important is that I've just told a bold-faced lie to my daughter about a man who I was completely in love with…and that I'm not sure whether she believed me. Wonderful mothering, Grace. Absolutely fucking wonderful. _She swallowed hard to assuage a choking sob, the guilt that perpetually simmered beneath the thin veneer of her control threatening to engulf her, her mind spinning as she moved numbly down the stairs and towards the kitchen.

TBC


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer, Pairing & Content**: See chapter 1.

**Rating**: T, for language.

**A/N**: So first of all, my apologies for not updating this is in so long. RL has been pretty tough lately and my muse has been distracted by other, happier fics! Also, just a note on this chapter – I had in mind that it would tie up roughly with the flashbacks we see of Boyd in series seven where Luke is being led away to police cells and saying that he hates his father. However, there is a bit of a discrepancy in age – I've made Luke about thirteen here and in canon he is clearly older when this happens; but I can't make it work any other way so I've had to stick with it! Hope it's not too unbelievable. My thanks again for your patience and for sticking with this fic – I am determined to get it finished at some point this year!

* * *

**August 1998**

Boyd took a large sip from his coffee cup and sank heavily onto the soft cushions of his sofa, releasing a grateful lungful of air into the stillness. It had been a long and arduous twenty four hours, the most recent in a long line of similar days, and he was exhausted to the bone, his body weary, his mind numb. His team were competent, of that he was certain, but as the head of a prolific Major Crimes Unit he was well aware of the burden of responsibility, of the culpability of leadership and rank, the weight of each case resting squarely with him alone. It was beginning to take its toll; he had not seen his son in well over three months and his social life was practically non-existent, yet he found himself thriving on the intricacies of each investigation, his perpetual drive for justice spurring him forward, even when he felt he had no more of himself to give.

He sighed deeply, forcing away his natural inclination for introspection as he reached for the book on the coffee table, berating himself anew for his seemingly uncontrollable masochistic tendencies as his fingers traced the title. _Christ, it's been almost eight years and I still can't bring myself to fully sever the connection…._He had bought Grace Foley's latest academic offering several weeks earlier, unable to stop himself, his heart pounding as he had stood in the bookshop and pored over her words, his fingers gently tracing the picture decorating the internal sleeve. She was aging well, he mused presently, opening the book to re-examine the photograph, her face achingly familiar and yet agonisingly distant, his heart lurching as he lost himself briefly in her expressive eyes. They had had no contact since their parting, Boyd remaining stoically determined to respect her wishes even once his decree absolute had come through, but he had followed her career with vigour, convincing himself that he was harming no-one by maintaining a professional interest in an increasingly well-renowned forensic psychologist. Beneath the veneer of control, he was painfully aware of his motivation for such activities, a desperate need to keep her close, but he was always quick to dismiss such whimsy, firmly sealing his heart against the barrage of regret that inevitably followed.

Taking another pull from his mug, he settled back against the cushions and turned over the first page, swearing loudly as the telephone beside him began to ring irritatingly into the tranquillity. _Oh, you've got to be fucking kidding me. My first evening off in a month and…._

"DCI Peter Boyd?" intoned a sharp voice on the other end of the line.

"Speaking," Boyd replied, frowning at the business-like tone, the clipped formality of the words.

"Father of Luke Boyd?"

The DCI felt his heart leap icily into his mouth. "Joseph Luke….Yes….."

"Sir, this is Sergeant Lloyd, I'm in charge of custody at Paddington Road station. I'm afraid your son's been arrested for a public order offence and you're listed in his records."

Boyd closed his eyes wearily, a combination of dread and bitter disappointment settling heavily about his chest at the mention of his thirteen year old son. Joe's behaviour had become increasingly erratic as the previous year had progressed and Boyd had lost count of the number of times he had attended various police stations throughout the city in order to provide bail. He had been shocked by the appearance of the teenage on their most recent encounter; gaunt and pale, the boy had had deep indigo circles shadowing his expressive eyes and an aggression to his posture that Boyd had found deeply unsettling. Joe was also now going by his middle name, an attempt, Boyd presumed, to further distance himself from his parents and their sphere of influence, to stake a somewhat naïve claim to independence, given his still juvenile status. There had been venom in his voice as he had spat at his father, pure vitriol in his words, and Boyd had been saddened to the depths of his soul as he had led him away and towards his car. Despair had quickly given rise to guilt and guilt inevitably to denial, burying himself in his work as he fought to repress his crippling sense of failure as a father, the agony of responsibility for his child's behaviour a constant, acidic burning in his gut.

_I can't do this anymore,_ he told himself presently, pain lancing across his chest even as his mind settled on a course of action. _He has to learn that this isn't acceptable, that there are consequences for how he chooses to behave….._

"I'll be there as soon as I can," he said firmly into the telephone handset.

"Thank you, sir," Lloyd replied in monotone. "The bail will…."

"He can forget bail this time," the DCI interrupted curtly, forcing away the instantaneous surge of recrimination roiling sickeningly through his stomach. "In fact, tell Luke that yourself, will you?"

There was a brief pause before Lloyd spoke once more. "You realise this'll mean he'll spend a night in the cells, don't you, Chief Inspector? And this isn't the nicest of nicks…."

"I'm well aware of that, Sergeant. Keep him overnight and charge him however you see fit."

"Oh, there'll be no escaping the charges." Lloyd paused once more. "He's getting quite a name for himself, young Luke, sir."

Boyd bit back an acerbic reply, anger rippling through his veins, and he drew a steadying breath before replying. "I'll be there in an hour."

"Glad to hear it. See you then."

Without further preamble the Sergeant rang off and Boyd exhaled forcefully into the sudden quiet, tossing the book now forgotten in his hand irritably onto his coffee table. _For fuck's sake,_ he thought fiercely, running a hand roughly through his hair. _ What the fuck is that child's problem? _ He sighed heavily, the perpetual worm in his mind snaking further to the forefront and whispering with agonising realism, the savage barbs of its words causing his throat to constrict with a clogging ball of guilt. _God, I don't need to answer that,_ he thought morosely. _ I know exactly what his problem is and all I do is compound it by the sheer fact of who I am. And yet I can't keep backing him up every time he does this, I can't keep reinforcing his self-destructive behaviour. I know I need to do more to help him but pulling him away from the brink of a criminal record each time isn't the way._ _Christ, I should ring his mother, let her know he won't be home tonight…._With a further shuddering sigh he rose slowly to his feet and walked towards the front door, his fingers closing about his car keys as his heart continued to sink to the depths of his being.

* * *

"Doctor Foley, thank you for coming at such short notice; won't you sit down?"

Grace inclined her head in assent and slipped her fingers firmly into the proffered hand of the smartly dressed woman standing across the expanse of the mahogany desk before following her lead and taking a seat. The psychologist had received the unexpected phone call some twenty four hours previously, DSI Samantha Hawkins having crisply explained the urgency of the situation and her team's desire for a criminal profiling consult; the body count was rapidly multiplying, the media intensely critical and sensationalist, and Hawkins had apparently found herself beneath an increasingly fervent microscope as the days had ticked by into weeks. Grace had been initially hesitant; it had been eight years since her last foray into police work, the associations of that time still acutely, painfully raw, and she had spent several hours wrestling with her self-doubt whilst simultaneously trying to ignore the sharp tug of her intellectual curiosity. Finally she had returned the policewoman's call in the affirmative, having rearranged several of her clients and her Broadmoor workload, relegating her concerns to the depths of her mind as she had listened to Hawkins' unreserved sigh of relief down the line.

"I'm not exactly sure what I can offer you, Superintendent," she intoned presently, shaking her head to politely decline the DSI's offer of coffee. "I understand you've already had a psychologist take a look at your files and…."

"Oh, we have. He was about as much use as a chocolate teapot."

Grace reigned in an amused smile. "Professor Hall is very well respected in his field."

"Hm." Hawkins narrowed her azure eyes sceptically. "He's also a condescending, arrogant prick whose contempt for police work was obvious the minute he stepped foot in the door."

"Well, I couldn't possibly comment on that…."

"Whereas your reputation in cases like this precedes you, Doctor."

The psychologist raised a palm. "Just 'Grace'. If we're going to be working together, I don't think we should stand on ceremony, do you?"

Samantha gave a tight-lipped smile and a clipped nod. "Fine. 'Grace' it is, then."

"Can I ask how you've even heard of me? It's been some time since I last consulted on a police case."

"I'm aware of that…."

"Should I take that to mean you were desperate?"

The DSI laughed heartily and poured herself a cup of steaming black coffee from the cafetière on her desk. "Only in the sense of being desperate for a result, Grace."

"I know the press have been relentless in their analysis of how the investigation has been conducted so far."

"Indeed. I wish I could say I didn't give a shit but….well, let's face it; the papers more or less reflect public opinion and that paints a pretty dismal bloody picture just at the moment. Not to mention the backlash we've received from the victims' families."

"I can imagine."

"So I thought it would be prudent to bring in a proper expert. Someone who has a wealth of experience dealing with cases like this."

Grace frowned. "As I said on the phone, Superintendent: my work over the past ten years has mostly been at Broadmoor…."

" 'Samantha'," the older woman corrected dismissively. "And don't sell yourself short, Grace. I know about your pioneering Broadmoor work as well as your extensive academic research into behavioural profiling. You're right at the top of your game and yours is just the kind of input that might finally give us a break on this case."

"Well, thank you….I'll certainly do my best."

"Besides which," Hawkins continued fluidly. "Your permanent record at the Home Office is absolutely glowing. You come extremely highly recommended and I'd have been a bloody fool not to at least scope out if you were available."

Grace gave a small shrug, the perpetual flame of self-consciousness flickering hotly in her chest. "I'm flattered, Samantha. I really hope I'll be able to add something tangible to your investigation."

"I've got no doubts. Shall we go and introduce you to the squad?"

The psychologist nodded, rising from her seat and following the policewoman to the door, a sudden thought occurring to her as they reached the threshold, her pulse quickening in anticipation as the words formed on her lips. "Out of interest…can I ask who it was that specifically recommended me? It'd be something of a courtesy for me to ring and thank them…."

Hawkins glanced back towards the file on her desk before replying promptly, "A DCI Peter Boyd, currently of Tower Hamlets Major Crimes, I believe. I've frankly never seen such unreserved praise for an external forensic expert and I've been doing this job for more years than I care to mention. Do you need his number?"

_Oh, God_. Grace was unable to prevent the sharp intake of air into her lungs, her mind at once awash with the memory of his face, with the recollection of his touch, the years she had spent carefully constructing a barrier to her feelings falling dramatically away at the simple mention of his name. _Eight bloody years….and I still can't stop myself unravelling when I think about him. Absolutely, completely pathetic._ She took a deep, centring breath, willing away the unbidden rush of negativity, the damning self-criticism, trying desperately not to focus on the contradictory glow flooding through her chest at his reported high opinion of her credentials. _I never knew he'd put that on my record….Jesus, if only we'd just kept it professional it would be so much easier to let go…._

Momentarily she was aware of the other woman saying her name, concern lacing the edges of her tone as she spoke. "You alright, Grace? You look like you're about to pass out."

Grace forced herself to nod, to smile brightly in reassurance as she took a further step towards the office threshold, banishing all thoughts of her former lover to the darkest recesses of her soul and turning the invisible key firmly in the figurative lock. "I'm fine. Let's go and make a start."

Samantha regarded her with a quizzical frown before giving a slight shrug and gesturing anew towards the door, following her new colleague closely as she stepped confidently through.

TBC


	20. Chapter 20

**Disclaimer, Pairing & Content**: See chapter 1.

**Rating**: T, for language.

**A/N**: Apologies for the length of this chapter; it kinda got out of control! Thanks to you all for sticking with me and for your lovely reviews x

* * *

**February 2000**

"Mary, I don't know, alright? I wish I could tell you something else but I can't."

Boyd leant back in his chair and closed his eyes, frustration pounding through him uncontrollably as he fought to maintain an even tone. He gestured irritably towards his office door as one of his Detective Constables advanced towards the threshold from the bullpen; the younger man threw up his hands in surrender and instantly retreated as he caught the unapproachable body language of his superior, the telephone balanced precariously between Boyd's ear and shoulder.

"So, what do I do, Peter? Tell me that. He's fifteen years old, for Christ's sake!"

The strain in his ex-wife's voice was clear down the line and Boyd bit back an exasperated sigh despite the rush of fellow parental empathy, the anguish he knew was mirrored in the planes of his own soul.

"I know that," he intoned calmly. "And believe me, if I knew anything more I would tell you…."

"Would you?"

"Of course I bloody would. We may not be together anymore but we're both still his parents, aren't we?"

Mary gave a wavering sigh, her breath catching in her throat. "I'm scared, Peter. It's been more than eight months since he disappeared and I've had absolutely no contact…."

"Well, I have. I've told you that." Boyd heaved a shuddering breath, his imminent deception weighing ponderously on his conscience. _He's a fucking mess…._ "And he was fine. He's just not quite ready to come home yet."

"The drugs…."

"I've offered him help. Numerous times, in fact."

"Can't you force him? He's a minor and he's…."

"Mary, the last time I tried that I didn't see him for more than two months. I can't help him if he doesn't want it."

She was quiet for several moments and when she spoke again the anguish in her voice caused an odd constriction to grip his chest. "I wish….I wish he'd just ring me…."

"I know you do," he intoned softly.

"I mean, why hasn't he, Peter? Why's the only contact been through you?"

"When I've not exactly been the greatest father on the planet?"

Mary sighed darkly. "I don't want to get into that."

"I don't know why," he continued sharply, the undertone to her words increasing his discomfiture. "I've asked him to call you enough times….He's probably ashamed or…."

"Well, he needn't be. I'm his _mother_, for God's sake; I just want to know he's okay."

Boyd took a breath to reply but was instantly silenced by the sight of an imposing uniform approaching his office door, the imminent unannounced visit momentarily halting his breathing. _Shit_, he thought tensely. _What the hell does he want…?_

"Listen, I'm going to have to go," he told her hurriedly, a rush of guilt rippling through his veins as he caught the tiny hitch in her breathing.

"Peter…."

"I'll ring you if I hear anything, alright?" he reiterated firmly. "I promise."

"Just get back to your work. I wouldn't want a conversation about our son to get in the way of your important investigations."

Boyd felt his patience dissipate in a cloud of irritation at the venom in her tone and he ran a hand roughly through his hair. "For God's sake, Mary…."

"It's almost reassuring to find that nothing changes. Bye, Peter."

He hung up abruptly as he heard her ring off and he allowed his eyes to close, wrestling desperately with his barely controlled anger, incredulous that the interaction between them could still remain so bitter despite the years that had fallen away. _Oh, Christ, I can hardly blame her, _he thought reproachfully._ I was a fucking awful husband…and arguably an even worse father. Our teenage son is living rough, shooting God knows what into his veins…and even as a well-connected DSI I've got no fucking idea where he is…._ Boyd inhaled slowly, forcing the perpetual anguish to the depths of his consciousness and affixing a neutral expression to his features as he stood to greet his visitor, the forceful knock at his office door heightening his sense of trepidation.

"This a good time, Peter?" Deputy Assistant Commissioner Christie opened curtly as he stepped across the threshold, his eyebrows raised in question towards the towers of files littering the junior officer's desk.

Boyd gestured towards the empty chair across the expanse, reclaiming his own seat once the older man had accepted. "Frankly, it depends, sir."

"On?"

"On whether you're here to rake me over the coals for the lack of progress on the Ellison case."

Christie gave a brief laugh and shook his head. "Nothing of the sort. I'm fully aware the problems aren't down to you."

"I'm the head of this team," Boyd replied gravely. "Whichever way you look at it, the problems are _always_ down to me."

"This issue of leadership, Boyd….It's actually what I'm here to discuss."

The younger man folded his arms across the breadth of his chest, trying to suppress the urge to bristle. "We've had some good results over the past few months, sir…."

The senior officer raised a palm to stem the tide. "You don't need to be on the defensive. Your successes aren't remotely in question."

"So…?"

"It's a matter of…appropriate use of resources, Superintendent."

Boyd frowned. "Which is corporate-speak for what, exactly?"

Christie leant forward earnestly. "For a new opportunity. A chance for you to head up a brand new venture, a pilot scheme for…."

"Am I getting a say?"

The DAC narrowed his eyes at the interruption. "Of course; are you going to let me explain?"

Boyd inclined his head, levelly holding the senior officer's rapidly disapproving gaze. "I'm all ears, sir."

"I'm glad to hear it." Christie replied in equal measure, drawing a deep breath and pausing briefly before speaking again. "It's the formation of a new unit, Boyd, a unit specifically tailored for the investigation of previously unsolved crimes."

The DSI raised his eyebrows in surprise, his superior's revelation an unexpected one. "Cold cases?"

"Indeed…and I'll speak honestly and tell you that it's an experimental undertaking, at best. We've got no idea whether or not it'll be viable in the long term."

Boyd's smile was sardonic, a cloud of realisation darkening unpleasantly about his shoulders. "So you need someone expendable to steer the ship; is that it?"

The DAC tutted loudly in exasperation. "For God's sake, Boyd; there's no way this project would be given to you if the brass didn't think you'd excel. Try and think of it as an opportunity to make your mark, to show what you're made of."

"My Major Crimes Unit…."

"It'll be handed over to DCI Stewart just as soon as you're up and running." Christie paused to survey the junior officer, to gauge his reaction. "The CCU will be a legitimate department, Peter. I want you to hand-pick your team, to put together experts from various fields as well as junior officers. It's got to be the best of the best if this is to have even a remote chance of succeeding."

Boyd frowned, trying desperately to force away the sudden siren beckoning inside his skull. "What kind of experts are we talking about here?"

"Well, fundamentally a whole panel of forensics people; from pathology to psychology, I should think. We want to make sure every aspect of investigation is covered so you maximise your chances of a result on these cases."

_A psychologist….Oh, Christ….can I really go there? Ten bloody years without a word to each other…could this be the kick up the arse I need to finally pick up the damned phone? He did say the best of the best…and there's no doubting that's what she is….I just don't know whether it would a recipe for absolute fucking disaster…._ Aloud he cleared his throat and took a breath to continue. "How much time have I got to consider this, sir?"

Christie gave a grim smile and folded his arms. "Officially, you've got a week."

"And unofficially?"

"The powers-that-be want this sorted as soon as possible, Boyd. There's a lot of pressure when the media start speculating about shoddy original investigations."

Boyd inclined his head, his eyes hardening to flint. "Pressure that'll instantly transfer to me if and when I decide to take this on."

The DAC smiled thinly. "I'm sure you can handle it."

"Hm."

There was a momentary silence as the two men regarded each other before Christie broke the stalemate and rose to his feet, re-straightening his uniform to its former pristine lines. "I'll need your answer in the next forty-eight hours, Superintendent."

"I'm in the middle of a case, sir…."

"It's non-negotiable." The DAC raised his eyebrows. "That is unless you'd rather we take you out of the running altogether?"

"I didn't say that."

"Then make sure you ring my secretary in good time." The senior officer made his way to the office threshold before looking back towards Boyd. "Don't throw away this opportunity, Peter. Frankly it could be the break your stagnant career has been looking for all these years."

Boyd drew a sharp breath to reply before exhaling heavily into the silence as Christie made an expeditious exit, surrendering against the backrest of his chair as his mind reeled uncontrollably, the previous minutes' conversation replaying incessantly against the bones of his skull. _Fucking hell,_ he mused ominously. _Talk about a bolt from the blue. One minute I'm trying to run an investigation and deal with my ex-wife…and the next…._He ran a hand through his hair and allowed his head to drop backwards, his gaze fixating on the ceiling. _Should I just follow him out right now and accept? It's not like I'm setting the world on fire in my current job….Cold case investigation sounds intriguing…and the chance to pick my own squad is certainly…tempting. Jesus. More than tempting. _He closed his eyes to assuage the images of Grace Foley as they instantly bombarded his consciousness, shaking his head firmly in self-directed irritation, the affirmative decision regarding his future solidifying even as he tried to resist it further. _Oh, who am I trying to kid here? _He thought with annoyance. _Of course I'm going to damn well accept. I'd be a fucking idiot not to._ With a deep sigh, he pushed his paperwork aside and reached solemnly for the telephone.

* * *

Grace pulled a long breath into her lungs, allowing the oxygen to circulate through her blood and her eyes to drift closed as she fought to quell the nervous churning of her stomach. She had received the unexpected telephone call from Robert Christie some three weeks previously, his proposition initially drawing her in with its promise of applied academic rigour until he had mentioned the name of the officer in charge of the new unit, her heart dropping icily through her body as her mind had struggled to process the implications. She had spent a week deliberating, relentlessly debating the pros and cons of such a permanent shift in her career in addition to the prospect of working in such close proximity with the man she had spent the better part of a decade trying stoically to forget. After a torturous amount of soul-searching she had finally reached an impasse, forcing away the doubts that continued to gnaw at her judgement and returning Christie's call before she could change her mind once more, her calm voice surprising her as she fought a torrent of anxiety barely held within her control.

Now she was walking down an unfamiliar corridor, the door in front of her looming somewhat ominously as she approached, and she willed herself to concentrate on drawing a final cleansing breath into her body before stepping over the threshold. She smiled warmly as a young detective looked up immediately from her seated position at a central cluster of desks, a questioning expression creasing her attractive features as she rose expectantly to her feet.

"Doctor Foley?"

Grace's smile broadened as she approached the blonde woman and her equally fresh-faced male colleague who had also begun to stand. "Grace," she corrected gently, accepting the proffered hand of each of her new workmates in turn.

"DC Silver, DS Jordan," the younger woman replied, gesturing across the desk towards the impeccably tailored senior officer before grinning sheepishly and rolling her eyes at her own slightly stilted formal introduction. "Otherwise known as Mel and Spencer."

Grace raised an eyebrow and gratefully accepted the mug of coffee placed firmly into her grasp. "No ranks inside these four walls, then?"

Spencer Jordan smiled widely, his onyx eyes shining. "Not down here in the dungeon, Grace."

"Well, not unless DAC Christie springs us an unannounced visit," Mel added sardonically. "I suppose it depends how good our results turn out to be."

"Have you already started working on something?" Grace asked, taking a large sip from her drink and resting lightly against a desktop.

Spencer shook his head. "Not yet," he said, a trace of frustration lacing his tone. "I think you could say we're currently awaiting our orders."

"And on that note," Mel interjected, beginning to walk away. "I'd better go and let the boss know you're here."

Grace raised a palm and moved quickly towards the younger woman, her nervousness intensifying as she approached. "No need, Mel."

The constable frowned in confusion. "He'll want to know, Grace."

"I'll go myself. You go and make the most of the downtime, alright?"

Mel held the psychologist's eye for a brief moment before shrugging her slender shoulders in acquiescence. "Alright."

Grace gave a small smile before turning towards the closed office door, inhaling slowly to centre herself and giving a sharp tap on the glass partition, swallowing her residual anxiety as a deeply familiar voice bade her entrance.

Peter Boyd looked up as she stepped into his domain and Grace felt her breath catch in her chest, the years falling dramatically away as they regarded each other for a long moment, neither able to immediately draw their gaze away. It had been almost a decade since they had had any form of contact, a decade since she had concealed the true reason for the abrupt cessation of their relationship and she found herself suddenly, agonisingly mute beneath the intense scrutiny of his charcoal eyes. He was aging beautifully, she mused, instantly berating herself for the inevitable train of thought as her eyes flickered silently across his face, her heart constricting painfully as she drank him in. His hair was streaked through with grey, his skin marked by the ravages of time but as he stood to greet her she was struck by how little the strongly broad planes of his body had changed, flattered as they were by the smooth lines of his suit. _Oh, God, _she thought desperately as she caught the electricity arcing unbidden through her nerve-endings_. I'm not sure I can do this…._

For his part Boyd found himself similarly stricken, his heart pounding furiously against his ribcage as he observed her, acid swirling hotly in his stomach as he absorbed the softly styled blond hair, the expressive sapphire eyes, the gentle curves concealed beneath her slightly bohemian clothing. _Jesus Christ, she's just as fucking gorgeous as she ever was_, he thought fervently, a sense of anguished futility building rapidly inside his bones even as his body stole a more primal reaction against his will. _Ten fucking years and the first thing I'm thinking about is the imprinted memory of her body, of how fucking amazing she used to feel when she…._He cleared his throat abruptly, forcing a smile to his face as he stepped around his desk and towards her.

"Hi," he intoned gruffly, silently berating himself for the banality of his opening address but unable to construct a more coherent greeting beneath the pressure of his conflicting emotions.

"Hi," she replied softly, carefully arranging her features into a mask of measured neutrality as she surveyed him, quietly acknowledging the tension that crackled in the air between them.

"Thanks for agreeing to this," he said after several moments had passed, gesturing for her to take a seat on the couch to her left and joining her once she had done so, studiously maintaining an appropriate distance between their bodies.

Grace shrugged. "DAC Christie seemed to think it might be a bit of a gamble…."

He smiled wryly. "Even more reason I should be thanking you, then. I imagine it was quite a decision to leave the security of your last job."

"Yes and no. I've been looking for a new challenge for a while and this…Well, it seemed to fit the criteria."

Boyd gave a small grunt of accession. "Did Christie explain the brief?"

She nodded. "Cold cases. Investigations that were shelved due to lack of evidence or…."

"Shoddy police work," he interrupted with a heavy sigh. "It could be an absolute pre-requisite for disaster, this dragging up of the past. I'm still not entirely convinced by the premise."

"It's possible. But equally it could afford us the opportunity to provide closure for the people involved; the victims, their families…."

"Assuming we get convictions. Otherwise it's just likely to be an exercise in false hope, don't you think?"

Grace inclined her head thoughtfully. "I think it's just hope, isn't it?"

He gestured dismissively and blew out his breath. "Semantics."

"Perspective," she offered in alternative, affording her a small smile from the policeman. "Anyway; tell me about the team."

Boyd leant back against the cushions of the sofa and crooked his neck towards the bullpen. "I assume you met Spence and Mel on your way in?"

The psychologist smiled. "I did. I almost asked them where their parents were."

He laughed throatily. "They're actually more experienced than they look."

"Well, that's a relief."

"Anyway, the crux of the team will consist of the four of us plus a lead forensic scientist with her own people to assist. We'll also have various junior ranks at our disposal but essentially the bulk of the work will be covered by the central core unit."

Grace narrowed her eyes. "Sounds like we're talking long hours…."

"Undoubtedly; is that going to be a problem?"

"I wouldn't have thought so."

"Good." He paused briefly before running a hand roughly through his hair and heaving a vehement sigh. "This dusting off of cold cases, Grace…."

She blinked, studying the uncertainty flickering across his features. "What about it?"

"You do realise we might be doing it in the full glare of the national press, don't you?"

The psychologist nodded crisply. "Of course. The media like nothing more than to gleefully laud the Force's apparent failures over itself."

"Are you ready for what that means?"

Grace frowned. "I'm not fresh out of university, Boyd."

"No…but neither are you used to working under such scrutiny."

"I can handle it. I've dabbled in police work for years, remember?"

He looked at her, their eyes locking intensely as the undercurrent of her words transported each of them back almost a decade in their association, the space between them suddenly, achingly charged. "I remember," he murmured quietly, wrestling a powerful urge to brush his fingers against her cheek.

"So you know I'm no stranger to press intrusion," she continued stoically, forcing herself to break the deadlock, to reassert her professionalism despite the anguish threatening to constrict her vocal chords.

"Be that as it may," he replied, more curtly than he had originally intended. "We'll also be under pressure from the upper echelons of the brass. This is an experimental venture and they're keen to make sure we're not just a money pit."

"That's understandable."

"To a point." He pulled a face. "I don't want those bastards breathing down my neck all the time, Grace, so we're going to have to make damned sure we prove them wrong."

Grace smiled. "Fighting talk."

"It's not a bad place to start from, is it?"

"Are you asking my professional opinion?"

"Should I be?"

Her smile widened. "That's what you're paying me for, isn't it?"

"Not to shrink my head, Grace. I really don't think you'd want to go there."

She shrugged lightly, her sapphire eyes dancing. "Probably not."

He paused briefly before speaking again, their surprisingly easy interaction reassuring him about his decision to request her presence on his fledgling squad. "Anything you want to ask?"

"I don't think so. I'll leave you to it and go and properly acquaint myself with those impossibly young detectives out there."

Boyd smiled, watching as she stood and approached the door, feeling his expression begin to crumble as she turned away, his eyes closing despairingly as the words formed on his lips before he could stop them. "How's your husband, Grace?"

She froze with a sharp gasp, the question searing ribbons of pain through her heart, his allusion to their shared past shattering the veneer of business-like calm that had dominated their present conversation, and she half-turned to acknowledge him, snatching a short, desperate breath before replying quietly, "He passed away. January 'Ninety-One."

"Shit," Boyd breathed shakily, self-directed anger coursing through his veins at the unpalatable inappropriateness of his query. "I'm sorry."

She smiled sadly. "It's alright. It'd been on the cards for a long time."

"Even so…."

"How's your son?"

He exhaled forcefully at her swift retaliation and shook his head, rising to his feet to move towards her. "I wish I knew," he replied darkly, raising a palm at the quizzical expression decorating her features. "Another time, perhaps."

"Alright…."

"For now let's go and track down the elusive Doctor Wharton, shall we? Damn forensic scientists are so bloody antisocial."

Grace laughed despite the maudlin shadow that seemed to have cast itself about their shoulders, forcing her residual melancholia to the dark crevices of her mind and opening the door to the bullpen, an odd lightness settling comfortingly in her stomach as she stepped through, utterly reassured by the decision she had made regarding her professional future.

TBC


	21. Chapter 21

**Disclaimer, Pairing & Content**: See chapter 1.

**Spoilers**: S1, 'A Simple Sacrifice' and S2, 'Thin Air'.

**Rating**: T, for language.

**A/N**: So now we get to the episode add-ons! I've tried to be selective as otherwise I fear this story could go on forever – this chapter will cover 'A Simple Sacrifice' and 'Thin Air' (from which the first piece of dialogue between Frankie and Boyd has been lifted straight from the script) . The dates I've used are approximate but I've tried to keep them roughly in line with the air dates for the episodes. Huge, huge apologies for the delay with the update – one day I might actually get this finished *sigh* Thank you for sticking with it, I really appreciate the support x

* * *

**December 2000**

Grace drew a breath deep into her lungs, allowing the air to circulate through her weary bloodstream, her shattered nerves, her taut synapses. She closed her eyes, sighing at the sudden rush of images in the darkness, and she reached for her tea, grimacing at the unpalatably tepid temperature as she brought the cup to her lips. _He's fine,_ she reminded herself firmly, stoically, fighting back an acutely painful attack of anxiety. _You saw that for yourself….Oh, God, but he could so easily not have been…and it's been a long, long time since I felt terror like that….._She shook her head to try and clear the unsettling thought, the iron gauntlet of distress tightening around her heart, her mind drawn inevitably, inexorably to the events of the past seventy-two hours despite her best efforts to the contrary…..

"_Are you his wife?"_

_Grace felt her mouth fall open in surprise, catching herself before she could over-analyse the understandable assumption and quickly shaking her head. "No. I'm a colleague."_

_The young nurse looked apprehensive, her features drawing into a frown. "It's really supposed to be family only at the moment…."_

"_I appreciate that…but Superintendent Boyd doesn't have any family to speak of…and since his injuries were sustained whilst he was on duty…." The psychologist trailed off and shrugged hopefully. "I thought it was important one of his colleagues should visit, that's all. Everyone's very concerned."_

_The younger woman held her gaze momentarily before giving a small nod of accession. "Alright. No more than ten minutes, though. He's still recovering from the anaesthetic."_

_Grace smiled gratefully, consolation flooding her body as she was led towards a closed door, intense anticipation gripping her stomach as she tapped gently against the muted green wood. "Boyd?" she called quietly, opening the door into the softly lit room and stepping over the threshold, trying desperately not to gasp at the array of wires and tubes emanating from his muscular torso, the mechanical whirr of the machines as they monitored the delicate balance of his vital signs._

_He opened his eyes as she approached his bed, tracking her movements as she sank tensely onto the chair beside him, her bag held in bloodless white knuckles against her knees. "Don't look so worried," he bade her croakily, his voice rough against his vocal chords, cracked lips forming a lop-sided smile as her features slackened with obvious relief._

"_Easy for you to say," she quipped lightly. "I don't think any of us have slept since they brought you in here."_

"_More fool you, then. Talk about a waste of energy."_

_Grace rolled her eyes. "It's called concern, Boyd. It's quite a normal thing for one human being to have for another."_

"_Even for your boss?"_

_She shrugged, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "It's not completely unheard of."_

"_Christ. I need to try a bit harder on the dictatorship thing, then."_

"_Apparently so."_

_He exhaled dismissively as he absorbed the residual tension in her frame, the anxiety carefully hidden beneath the levity of her words. "I really am fine, Grace."_

"_Fine?" she echoed incredulously, her eyebrows reaching almost to her hairline. "Is that the morphine talking?"_

_His smile broadened though a jolt of pain shot suddenly, acidly through his flank causing him to draw a sharp breath. "The surgery went well. I'll be out of here in a few days."_

"_There's no hurry…."_

_He grunted, ignoring her soft sigh. "Yes, there is."_

"_The Annie Keel evidence is being rushed through, Boyd. In light of what happened with Reece Dickson there's absolutely no question of her being released."_

"_I want to be there."_

"_I know you do." She gave a small smile at the characteristically determined edge to his tone. "Just don't forget how seriously you were injured…."_

_He exhaled irritably. "I told you, Grace. I'm fine."_

"_For God's sake…."  
_

"_A few days to heal and it'll be business as usual."_

"_He could have killed you, Boyd. I **saw**…." Grace stopped herself abruptly and blinked swiftly away from him, forcing away the stubborn constriction in her throat, the tears threatening to escape the corners of her eyes._

_He reached for her hand and then hesitated, at once unsure of the boundaries, the unresolved tension that always simmered invisibly between them intensifying in the strained, elongating silence. Boyd cleared his throat momentarily, his tone hardening gruffly as he fought against the conflicting directives of his head and heart. "Anyway…will you keep me updated? I want to know the second she's granted her acquittal."_

_Grace nodded quickly, grateful for his expeditious resumption of their previous conversation despite the hurt ricocheting through her chest at his dismissal of her obvious distress. "Of course."_

"_And let the others know I'll be back to my tyrannical ways in no time so they'd better make the most of the respite while they can, alright?"_

_She smiled broadly, her amusement genuine as the residual astriction began to ebb slowly back to the depths. "They'll be thrilled."_

"_Good."_

_Grace rose decisively to her feet then, fighting a sudden urge to brush her lips across his cheek as she drew her visit to a close. "I'll let you get some rest," she said quietly, unable to prevent herself from touching him lightly on the shoulder, his skin soft and warmly familiar beneath her touch._

_He grinned. "Send the cute nurse in on your way out, would you? I'm feeling a sudden need to have a sponge bath."_

_Grace rolled her eyes and admonished him gently with the back of her hand. "Behave yourself."_

"_I'm a model patient."_

"_You're a model liar." She shook her head disapprovingly and began to make her way to the door, her light-heartedness dwindling abruptly as she turned back to face him, the reality of his present condition reasserting itself coldly in her consciousness. "Boyd?"_

"_What?"_

"_Don't do anything like this again."_

_He looked at her for a long moment, absorbing the barely held fear in the caverns of her expressive eyes, the anxiety rippling from every plane of her body, and he felt an acute need to reassure her, a surge of protectiveness washing through his bones. "I'll do my best."_

_A brief smile ghosted across her features at his reply and she inclined her head towards him in acknowledgment before stepping through the door, purposefully restraining the tide of emotion threatening to overwhelm her as she strode in the direction of the exit…._

Presently Grace released her breath into the shadowy stillness of her living room, the memory of their conversation still vividly clear in her mind, and she rubbed a hand across her eyes in a fruitless attempt to banish both the recollection and the associated plethora of emotion. She was certain her concern would have been similar had Mel Silver or Spencer Jordan been the victim of the vicious knife attack, the trauma of seeing a close colleague so brutally injured and being unable to assist understandably distressing, yet she was deeply uncomfortable with the extremity of her response to Boyd's predicament. Her crippling, numbing horror upon watching the scene unfold before her eyes, her utter panic at the prospect of losing him had caused bile to rise in her throat and ferocious shards of ice to encroach upon her heart. She had felt physically immobilised, almost as though she were floating helplessly above her body, and it had taken all of her resolve not to sob uncontrollably, not to fall apart completely as the situation progressed relentlessly beyond her control.

The truth behind her reaction was now gnawing mercilessly at her soul, baying desperately for her attention and acknowledgment, and she sighed heavily once more, trying to delay the inevitable further before allowing her walls of resistance to spectacularly collapse. _I'm a bloody fool_, she berated harshly, a volley self-criticism lashing cruelly at her heart. _I still care about him far, far more than is good for me….and if he'd died without knowing that all those years ago my heart shattered when I had to end it….If he'd died without knowing just how much I still…._She shook her head forcibly to dislodge the predictable pattern of her thoughts. _I can't do this,_ she told herself firmly. _We've finally reached a point where we can work together, where every interaction isn't dominated by our past…and I'd hate to jeopardise it by being unable to maintain an appropriate emotional distance whenever he finds himself in the firing line. I'm deluding myself if I think this type of situation isn't going to recur, given both his profession and his personality….I just have to find a way to deal with it more effectively. _She took a final cleansing breath before rising to her feet and plunging the room into obsidian darkness, stepping into the contrasting chill of her hallway and padding slowly towards the stairs. _ I only wish I knew where to start_.

* * *

**October 2002**

Grace glanced up from her desk at the sound of light tapping on her office door, a smile decorating her mouth as Frankie Wharton's face appeared around the frame, her strongly attractive features framed by escaping strands of errant chestnut hair.

"Got a minute?" the forensic scientist asked hopefully, her eyebrows raised in expectation as she addressed the older woman.

"Of course, Frankie, come in," Grace replied easily, gesturing for her colleague to step over the threshold and enthusiastically closing the file in front of her with a flourish. "I'm going round in circles with this Joanna Gold thing, anyway."

"I know the feeling," Frankie answered grimly, falling heavily into the chair opposite the older woman and rubbing a hand roughly across her face, suddenly keen to deflect her mounting anxiety.

Grace frowned, concern tugging at her stomach as she took in the barely concealed tension in the fellow scientist's form. "You okay?"

Frankie blew out a forceful breath. "Yeah…."

"You sure?"

The younger woman sighed anew, discomfort flaring hotly in her chest. "I need to speak with you about something."

Grace raised an eyebrow. "That sounds ominous; do I need to make tea?"

Frankie pulled a face. "Wouldn't even come close."

"Glass of red, then?"

"Why not? Dutch courage, and all that."

The psychologist smiled despite the sense of foreboding raking across her chest and she rose to her feet to retrieve the bottle of Pinot Noir she reserved within the depths of her cupboard, pouring two generous glassfuls and handing one to her compatriot before resuming her seated position opposite.

"So, come on, Frankie," she continued lightly after several moments had passed for both women to sip cautiously at their wine. "What's going on?"

"Okay…." Frankie exhaled forcefully and leant forward to place her wine glass atop the older woman's desk. "I need to ask you a very personal question."

Grace laughed. "Does this relate to our earlier conversation about what we were doing in the eighties?"

"No," the scientist replied seriously, causing her companion's features to sober. "It's something more recent…or at least, I think it is."

"Well, whatever it is, Frankie," Grace intoned tenderly, perturbed by the discomfort emanating in waves from the younger woman. "You can ask."

"With the proviso that you might not give me an answer?"

She gave a small, wry smile. "Let me hear the question and we'll take it from there, okay?"

Frankie drew a deep, centring breath, pausing briefly for composure before speaking again. "Okay….Correct me if I'm wrong but you and Boyd have known each other a long time, right?"

Grace quirked her eyebrows, surprised by the unexpected query, her heart beginning to pound uncomfortably of its own accord. "On and off for about twelve years….Why?"

"Just in a professional capacity?"

The psychologist felt her defences begin to rise and she snatched a quick breath, forcing herself to hold the younger woman's gaze. "What are you getting at?"

Frankie sighed. "Look, Grace, I've watched the two of you together and there's…definitely something…."

"What?"

"I don't know. That's the problem."

Grace frowned, a sense of dread snaking venomously into her consciousness. "Why a problem?"

"Because…." The scientist broke off abruptly and ran a hand irritably through her hair, trying desperately to assuage her acute embarrassment and unease, mentally gritting her teeth as she willed the reluctant words into the stillness. "Because I like him, Grace, alright? But I didn't want to do anything about it before I'd spoken to you…."

"Frankie…."

"The last thing I'd want to do is tread on your toes."

Grace sighed softly, willing away a surge of jealousy at the thought of the attractive young scientist setting her sights on Peter Boyd and the highly likely potential for his reciprocation. "So you want to know if Boyd and I…?"

"Are you?"

"No."

Frankie's gaze was intense and demanding. "Were you ever?"

Grace gave a tiny, dismissive shake of her head, at once incapable of entirely supressing the truth. "You don't have to worry."

"Ah," the younger woman intoned shrewdly, her dark eyes shining knowingly at the psychologist's obvious evasion. "I should read 'yes' there then, shouldn't I?"

"It's not a problem on my part, is what I'm saying. As far as I know he's a free agent."

Frankie leant forward earnestly, a need for reassurance utmost in her mind. "Are you sure, Grace? I don't want to cause any tension, given that we've all still got to work together…."

Grace smiled warmly, genuinely touched by her companion's concern. "You're very sweet, Frankie…but whoever either of you choose to see outside of work is absolutely nothing to do with me, alright?"

The two women regarded each other steadily for several moments, each aware of the chasm of unspoken sentiments opening expansively between them, before Frankie gave a falsely bright smile, wrestling her residual doubts to the pit of her stomach. "Alright," she affirmed softly, planting her palms to her knees and rising from the chair. "Thanks, Grace."

Grace watched the younger woman make her way to the door, unable to prevent the warning words as they formed in her larynx despite her mind's reservations to the contrary. "Just…be careful, Frankie."

The scientist's look was one of jovial derision. "I'm a big girl, Grace."

"I just mean that starting a relationship with someone in a team as small as ours can be fraught with difficulties, that's all…."

"So speaks the voice of experience?"

The psychologist stoically ignored the light-hearted jibe. _God, if only you knew…._ "Especially when he's your boss."

"He's not my boss."

"Well, as good as."

"I'll be fine." Frankie grinned widely and reached for the door handle. "Bye, Grace. Thanks for this."

The older woman inclined her head, resisting the urge to gesture in resignation. "See you later, then."

The door closed gently in the scientist's wake and Grace watched her retreating back through the muted haze of glass as she sauntered across to engage their seated colleagues in the bullpen. With a concerted effort, the psychologist inhaled slowly and calmly released the air once more from her lungs in a desperate bid for equilibrium, her conversation with the younger woman replaying agonisingly, relentlessly in her mind. _Boyd and Frankie….I suppose I should have seen it coming_, she thought morosely, disturbed by the extent to which the concept deeply bothered her, tendrils of bitterness threatening to constrict her heart. _She's feisty, attractive, intelligent….There's absolutely no way he'll turn her down…and I have no right to feel so utterly devastated by the prospect. It's not as though we're anything to each other, not anymore. _She gave a hollow laugh into the lonely quiet of her empty office. _He was never mine to begin with_, she mused self-loathingly. _And to even nurture the hope that one day he might be was pathetically deluded at best and grossly masochistic at worst. _Sighing heavily, she pushed the maudlin thoughts, the twisting jealousy aside and forced her attention back to the mounting pile of papers on her desk.

* * *

"Good night."

Boyd called out a brief rejoinder, his eyes tracing Grace Foley's movements through his open door as she hurried from her darkened office before falling onto the sleek hands of his wristwatch, surprise rattling through him as he noted the lateness of the hour. _Christ, I should just have a bed here_, he thought irritably, acknowledging with dismay the amount of work he still had to complete, the nagging sense that he needed to move the case further forward. _Sell my bloody house, pocket the money and live here for free instead….Who needs a fucking life anyway? _Sighing, he reached for his mug and took a generous mouthful of coffee, trying to re-focus his attention on the minutiae of his paperwork before glancing up once more as he caught the advancing figure of Frankie Wharton, her slender form partly concealed beneath a bulky parka.

"I'm all done here," she announced breezily as she strode towards his desk, leaning against her palms to look down at him. "Do you want to go and eat?"

Boyd blinked in genuine surprise at the question, his mind having anticipated a work-related discussion upon seeing her approach, a professional exchange of findings and directives as opposed to the personal interaction that was somewhat outside of his comfort zone. He felt his pulse quicken as he observed her, as he caught the serious intonation wrapped delicately within the casual invitation, the flicker of hope dancing fleetingly across the surface of her chocolate eyes. _Oh,_ _God….Is she seriously asking me out? Or am I so out of the loop that I'm misreading her here? Two friends going out for dinner doesn't necessarily mean…? Oh, Jesus, just look at her, Peter. Get a fucking grip._

He gave a small smile, stalling for time as his mind raced through the possibilities. "No…," he replied eventually, the certainty of his answer solidifying in his chest as the negative escaped his lips. "I've got too much to do."

Frankie raised an eyebrow in challenge, a hint of promise lacing her tone as she straightened up once more to regard him. "Chance of a lifetime?"

He looked at her, quietly acknowledging not for the first time that he found her attractive in an entire sense, a brief surge of temptation pulling at his stomach before his better judgement reasserted itself. _It would be a huge mistake…in more ways than one…, _he thought regretfully, irritably forcing away the sudden and unwanted image of Grace from his mind's eye. "No," he reiterated gently, supressing a grimace at the almost pitying apology in his tone.

The scientist blinked, her expression one of carefully measured neutrality. "Okay," she acquiesced lightly, beginning to retreat towards the door in a determined effort to retreat from the sudden awkwardness.

"Thanks, anyway."

"Yeah," she managed gruffly, unable to prevent herself from turning back to face him, a somewhat masochistic notion forming in her mind before she could stop it. "Any particular reason?"

Boyd frowned. "I told you, Frankie. I've got too much work to do."

The younger woman exhaled derisively. "It's the oldest excuse in the book, Boyd."

"Yeah, well…it happens to be true. Maybe another time."

Frankie narrowed her eyes sceptically. "I don't think you mean that."

"Oh, come on, Frankie; what do you want me to say?"

"A bit of honesty wouldn't go amiss," she replied sardonically. "And you don't have to sugar-coat it either. I can take it."

He exhaled forcefully and removed his reading glass to run a weary hand across his eyes. "It just wouldn't be a good idea, that's all."

She eyed him suspiciously, realisation settling uncomfortably in her chest. "Has it got something to do with Grace?"

He held her gaze, maintaining a deliberately neutral expression despite the defensiveness he could feel intensifying in his gut, the indignation prickling hotly along his spine. "Why would it have anything to do with Grace?"

Frankie shrugged noncommittally, a gesture of feigned indifference. "It's obvious you and she have got some sort of history."

"History?" Boyd barked a short, dismissive laugh. "Last time I checked, we weren't living in an American soap opera, Frankie."

"Well, have you?"

He sighed, annoyance flaring briefly behind his eyes as he considered her question, the possibility that his former lover had been less than discrete about their shared past with their mutual colleague. "Did Grace tell you that?"

Frankie shook her head, a sad spark of confirmation igniting across the expanse of her irises before she stoically blinked the expression away. "She didn't need to."

He leant forward. "Frankie…."

"Good night, Boyd."

With a final resigned smile she stepped from the office, leaving Boyd to release a lungful of air into the soft light, his neck snapping back sharply against the headrest of his chair, his eyes dropping fitfully closed. _Christ, is this the way it's going to be?_ He pondered darkly after several unfocused moments had passed, unable to shake the memory of consecutive hope and disappointment flickering unhidden through Frankie's deeply captivating eyes. _Some gorgeous woman, easily fifteen years my junior, comes on to me and I turn her down because of what? Some ridiculous commitment I feel to my past? Some sense of duty to a woman I had nothing more than an affair with over a decade ago? What the fuck is wrong with me? _He sighed dejectedly, pushing away the nagging suspicion that there were further truths he was deliberately avoiding, a continuous intensity of feeling as far as Grace Foley was concerned that he had never successfully conquered. _I can't still be in love with her after all this time,_ he told himself firmly, ignoring the sudden surge of agony lancing his heart and reaching determinedly for his paperwork once more. _I just can't be._

TBC


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: **First of all, I am so, so sorry this has taken me so very long to update – a million things in RL and a less than cooperative muse are to blame, I'm afraid. Anyways, this chapter relates to the events of S3's 'Breaking Glass' and S4's 'The Hardest Word', so assume spoilers for both of those episodes. The conversation between Boyd and Grace in the second part of this chapter has been lifted directly from 'The Hardest Word' – no copyright infringement intended!

If anyone is actually still following this fic, I thank you whole-heartedly for your support and I hope this update doesn't disappoint. Merry Christmas x

* * *

**September 2003**

Boyd awoke abruptly from an uneasy, tormented slumber, his skin slick with heat, his heart pummelling relentlessly against his ribcage. He reached for the glass of water on his bedside table and in the darkness knocked it clumsily to the floor, a torrent of invective leaving his lips in a rush as he heard the liquid splash gently against the expensively deep pile of his carpet. _For fuck's sake…._ With an irritated sigh, he turned on the nearest lamp within reach, embalming the room with a soft glow as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and ran a hand roughly through his hair. The dream had been vividly real, the images of his unconscious mind seemingly determined to torture him as he slept and he drew a long, deep breath, allowing the associated emotion to reach an equilibrium within his chest as he pondered both its meaning and its potency. _Christ, I can't be…_, he told himself resolutely, barely able to complete the final word of his silent sentence. _I don't give a shit who she sees and neither should I. Not anymore_. He shook his head firmly to dispel the traitorous doubt that had snaked about his heart as his mind formed the determined thought, the bitter truth that was knifing him savagely in the gut.

They had shared a brief, terse exchange when Grace had tried to leave the office quietly some eight hours previously, and in the present blackness of his bedroom the brutal recall felt ever more wrenchingly acute….

…_."We're right in the middle of a case…."_

"_It's seven o'clock, Boyd." The psychologist sighed and shifted her bag about her shoulder, though she felt compelled to stand her ground. "And I'm not asking for your permission."_

"_Yeah. That seems to be a common attitude with you at the moment." His voice was harsh, the words laced with a dangerous venom as he glared at her from atop his reading glasses._

_Grace's jaw was set in a determined line and she raised her chin defiantly. "We've been through this. I explained that the only likely way to Hugh Cullen was an indirect one and you…."_

"_I understand that."_

"_Ah." Her tone was awash with characteristic perceptiveness. "You just don't like the idea of a third party being involved."_

_Boyd sat back in his chair and folded his arms across the breadth of his chest as he regarded her. "Of course I don't."_

"_Or is it just this particular third party?"_

_He blew out a defensive breath, forcing away the stinging truth of her accusation as it buried its way intrusively beneath his skin. "Don't be absurd."_

_Grace swallowed resolutely and suppressed a heavy sigh. "I've known Alan Mackintosh for a long time, Boyd…."_

"_I'm really not interested. He could have been anybody as far as I'm concerned." _

"…_.I knew he was the only link to Hugh Cullen that we could trust to be an appropriate one."_

"_You've said that already. I don't want to go round in circles with this."_

_She held his gaze coolly. "Well, good. Neither do I."_

"_But you're still going home."_

_Her eyebrows quirked upwards slightly though her expression was still guarded. "I didn't say that, did I?"_

Oh, Christ…._He cleared his throat as he suddenly acknowledged the form-fitting dress, the carefully applied make-up, and he willed away an acrid surge of resentment as images of her entwined beneath the respectable Professor Mackintosh exploded painfully behind his eyes. "You didn't," he conceded flatly._

"_Well…," she intoned falteringly, at once apparently uncomfortable beneath the scrutiny of his gaze. "I'll see you in the morning."_

"_Yeah," he replied gruffly, returning his attention to the scattered papers atop his desk. "We need a briefing at eight."_

"_That's fine. See you then."_

_He kept his eyes studiously focussed on the files before him as he heard her sweep from the bullpen, the lingering scent of her perfume threading unremittingly through his senses as she took her leave, and he released an agonised breath into the silence, his head falling heavily back against his chair…._

….Boyd closed his eyes firmly against the memory, intensely irritated by its renewed efficacy as a haphazard jumble of thoughts vied for supremacy in his mind. _It's been thirteen fucking years,_ he calculated quickly as he stepped momentarily back in time. _Thirteen years since I've done so much as kiss her and yet the idea of her with another man….Jesus Christ, the fact that I'm dreaming about it says a lot about how fucked up I am over her…and how much I still fucking want her, even after all this time…._

He rubbed a frustrated hand across his eyes, silently debating the wisdom of retrieving the bottle of whisky from his lounge and then dismissing the notion just as readily. For the most part, and certainly during daylight hours, he was able to navigate the waters of his labyrinthine relationship with Grace with a practised, easy dexterity; they had mostly moved beyond the fraught early months of working together and into a determinedly measured friendship, their professional interaction acting as a useful guard for any lingering sentimentality. In the main, he felt settled in her presence, comfortable with sharing a bottle of wine in her office after hours, and though there were still moments of electrifying tension if his hand accidentally brushed hers, the thundering of his heart would subside ever more quickly as his mind jolted a ruthless dismissal.

The fall of darkness was in contrast a distinct deviation from their steadfast course; at least once a month he would wake up drenched in a lust-driven sweat, uncomfortably hard against the soft cotton of his sheets as his unconscious mind plagued him with the retrospective touch of her mouth, the feel of her tongue, the sensation of the now-forbidden silkiness between her legs. He would groan with a guttural frustration, the breath-taking bite of an icy shower doing nothing to assuage the fire stinging the lengths of his veins, the bitter futility of his powerfully present reaction to her memory. Time, it seemed, had not diminished the unbearable attraction he maintained for her, a fact which was banished beneath layers of forceful denial but that evidently still flared with a subversive intensity once his subconscious mind was in control.

Presently he released a heavy lungful of air into the oppressive stillness, his body shuddering unbidden as he fell forwards against his knees. _This is fucking ridiculous_, he berated himself harshly, rising with an automatic hollowness and padding towards his lounge, his fingers closing around the cool glass of the whisky bottle before he could stop them. _She can screw whoever she damn well likes and I have absolutely no fucking right to feel so bloody incensed about it_. A further incriminating word snaked poisonously into his brain and he downed the whisky in a single swallow, burning the concept from his skull as the amber liquid scorched his throat. _I'm not going down that road_, he told himself tenaciously, the callous self-recrimination like a scourge against his soul. _ She absolved me of the right to feel this way a long time ago._ _And it's about fucking time I took it to heart._

* * *

**July 2004**

Grace sank heavily onto her office couch and released a slow breath into the stillness. The tightness in her chest was stifling, the reality of the previous few hours at bitter odds with the glowing constructs of Peter Boyd that existed within the far reaches of her memory. Admittedly, she had been more than aware of the gradual change in him for some time; the increasing shortness of his temper, the bullish impatience, the blinkered determination in his pursuit of the truth, but she had never before seen him completely lose control, had never seen his rage boil over into an act of physical aggression. She closed her eyes against the powerful effect of the recall, the sound of the suspect clattering loudly to the floor beneath the weight of Boyd's clenched fist painfully intense in her ears and she allowed her head to fall morosely back against the soft cushions behind her. There had been a malice in his expression, a thunderous darkening of his eyes she had never experienced before, and she had felt physically sick as she had watched the scene unfold before her, a Peter Boyd she could not reconcile with the one in her mind appearing as if from a nightmare.

To his credit he had sought her absolution almost immediately, a flat despondency radiating from every inch of him as he sat in the brooding darkness of the meeting room, barely flinching as she had followed him inside and taken a pointed seat several illuminating feet away….

…_."I thought I knew you better," she opened monotonically, unable to bring herself to look at him as her stomach churned with an acidic mixture of piercing incredulity and agonising disappointment._

"_So did I." His voice was barely above a murmur, the strains catching against the edges of his throat as he intoned the heartfelt reply._

"_I just don't know what to say…." She felt the words trail into silence, the cloying ball of pressure in her throat rendering her unable to coherently express any further sentiment._

"_You understand how it happened." It was a statement, a hint of a challenge, and she looked across at him before she could stop herself, their eyes locking in an intense moment of silent exchange before pulling forcibly away once more. "Can you forgive me?" he asked gently a moment later, and she had to bite back a sob at his question, a renewed rush of feeling threatening to overwhelm her heart._

"_I mean…would that make you feel better?" she shot back, unable to prevent a harsh veneer from edging atop her tone._

"_A bit," he conceded unenthusiastically, though she could sense an attempt at joviality, at reconnection._

"_Well, I don't think I can," she told him resolutely, a juxtaposing shuddering sigh escaping unbidden from her lungs in counterpoint to her words, and she paused for a long moment before levelling him a sincere gaze. "I never want to see you like that again."_

…_._

She had risen to her feet abruptly and exited the room before he could issue a rejoinder, allowing the door to swing noisily closed in her wake, wanting him to feel both her irritation and her disapproval. _Fourteen years…._She released a terse breath, her eyebrows drawing together in a distressed frown as she silently calculated the time that had passed since their first fateful meeting, almost a decade and a half previously. _ Is it possible I really am that poor a judge of character? Or am I looking back at the person he used to be all those years ago and expecting life not to have changed him? When of course it has; how couldn't it? _She resolutely swallowed the knot that had twisted about her throat, self-recrimination flooding her as tears pricked relentlessly at her eyes. _The real question is…how do I feel about the person he's become? And can I trust that this isn't the start of an unstoppably self-destructive path for him? God, I can't even begin to contemplate how things might be if he doesn't get this under control….but at the same time I know I won't abandon him to it. Even if I'm invisible to him these days…._

Grace sighed again, the air rushing from her lungs as an ugly tendril of emotion she was unwilling to name snaked through her consciousness like a viper, Greta Simpson's luminous face swirling unbidden behind her eyelids. _Is this the way things are going to be?_ She wondered bitterly. _Every time his head is turned by an attractive younger woman I'm going to be consumed by…? By what, exactly? After all these years, jealousy would be utterly ridiculous…and yet…._She shook her head firmly, steely determination infusing into every synapse of her mind. _It's a secondary issue, at best. For God's sake, it was __**my**__ absolution he sought and not hers…_

With a steadfastly decisive motion she rose fluidly to her feet, relegating the remaining lingering thoughts to the base of her skull and stepping purposefully back over her office threshold and towards the bullpen.

TBC


	23. Chapter 23

**Disclaimer, Pairing & Content**: See chapter 1.

**Rating**: T, for language.

**A/N**: Well, first of all, a huge thank you for all of the lovely reviews on the previous chapter – I really am very grateful that people are still interested in and enjoying this fic! I have a deadline to get this all done by now – baby number 2 is due in July :) so after that time I'll have a three year old and a newborn…and just about zero chance of doing any writing for at least six months! So, with any luck, this will all be done and dusted by July….Watch this space ;)

This chapter takes place directly after the S4 finale, 'Shadowplay' – so there are most definitely spoilers for that episode!

* * *

**August 2004**

He stared unblinking, almost deliberately so, at the name he had just marked across the breadth of the board in an agonisingly cheerful shade of yellow, forcing himself to drag his eyes across the peaks and troughs of the alpha numerals, even as they began to blur. He had been doggedly stoical throughout the afternoon, his mind utterly focussed on the resolution of the case whilst refusing to dwell upon the sickening dent deforming the bonnet of his car, the incessant recall of the twisted body lying in perpetual silence on cold stone. The hours had ticked by with a relentless, brutal disregard for the unchangeable event that was now etched into his skull and he had registered a mild sense of shock as his eyes had fallen finally upon the titanium hands of his watch. He had dismissed the rest of the team as soon as circumstances had allowed; Spence's voice had been bereft and hollow as he bade the older man goodnight, Frankie pointedly and icily silent as she had rushed from the bullpen without a backwards glance.

_Not that I can blame her_, he pondered presently, the breath shuddering from his lungs as he found himself still unable to draw his gaze away from the board, self-loathing rippling through his chest as the name bore down on him oppressively. _I asked her to scrape the body of her friend from the concrete, for fuck's sake, to treat it like any other crime scene…and I'm not sure she'll ever forgive me for that. I'm not sure she even should._ He blinked finally into the semi-darkness, the accusing letters disappearing for a brief moment before filling his field of vision once more. _ Jesus Christ, it just shouldn't have happened. She had the whole path of her life to walk…and instead she's languishing in a fucking freezer waiting to be claimed….God, I'm sorry, Mel. I'm so fucking sorry…._

He choked back a sob, the knotted constriction in his throat so overwhelmingly intense that it took every ounce of his steely determination not to howl into the blessed stillness, not to scream and rage the futile injustice of it all to a deity he had long since ceased to believe in. He drew a ragged breath, asserting control once more over the belligerent betrayal of his body and in the same moment he became aware of an encroachment upon his barely-held grief, the gentle movements he had unwillingly come to recognise as being uniquely hers.

"I thought you'd left with the others," he opened gruffly, supressing a further sigh as she moved to stand beside him.

"No, you didn't."

He felt the breath escape his body in an acutely painful rush at the soft certainty of her tone, her words instantly dousing the flame of defensive antagonism that had risen against his will at her arrival. He gestured hopelessly towards the board, his arm moving of its own accord as he roughly cleared his throat and questioned monotonically, "I should probably take all this down, shouldn't I?"

"Probably." Grace laid a hand against his arm to still his sudden forward movement in reaction to her reply. "But there's no rush."

"No-one's going to want a reminder of…."

"It's not going to make a difference, Boyd. For a while every detail will be engraved into their memories anyway."

He grunted in accession though he threw her a derisive sideways glance. "I don't want to talk about post-traumatic stress…."

Grace gave a fleeting smile and raised a palm. "All relevancy aside…."

"Grace, please…."

"I wouldn't even consider it today. Not until the reality of what's happened starts to sink in." She paused briefly and looked at him. "Will there be an enquiry?"

He gave a curt nod. "I imagine so. A promising young detective murdered by a deranged…."

"Boyd…."

"The brass are going to want answers as to how the fuck it could possibly have happened."

She sighed softly at the flat melancholia, the bitter self-recrimination imbibing every word he spoke. "It wasn't your fault."

He dismissed her with a gesture of iron conviction. "Don't, Grace, alright? I'm not going to have this conversation."

"You need to hear it." She reached for his arm anew, her sincerity etched into each contour of her body. "Peter…."

"I mean it. This line of conversation stops now."

She held his gaze undaunted for a long moment before relenting beneath the sorrow that radiated in excruciating waves from the depths of his obsidian eyes, her heart contracting at the torture that mirrored her own. "Have you spoken to her parents?" she asked eventually, the gentle change of tack an obvious relief to him.

Boyd nodded slowly. "Briefly…on the phone…."

"Do you want me to…?"

"No." His tone was brusquely insistent as he pre-empted her question though he sighed in regret almost instantly, his voice softening as he turned his head to look at her. "No. I'll go tomorrow."

"Alright." Grace paused at length before addressing him anew, the elongated silence punctuated only by the electronic whirr of machines on the desks behind them. "Are you going to let me drive you home?"

The firm shake of his head was an assured rebuttal. "There's no need."

She frowned, concern tightening at the edges of her stomach. "Your car, Boyd…."

"It's a write-off…." He trailed into silence and looked at her, absorbing the anxiety written into the gentle facets of her engaging eyes. "Don't tell me you thought I was in denial about that. I meant I'd get a cab, the Tube; whatever."

"Grief can affect us in ways we don't expect. Being in denial is a perfectly valid and understandable response." She sighed softly and then implored him again, "Let me drive you home. Please."

He held her gaze, wondering briefly at the undercurrent that had flared suddenly, painfully between them, before replying flatly, "You don't need to keep an eye on me, Grace."

"Don't I?"

"For God's sake, I'm not so far gone that I'm about to throw myself off Waterloo Bridge or some other such selfish shit; what do you take me for?"

Grace drew a long breath, her composure unfazed by the venom in his tone, and she began to walk slowly away from him. "Go and get your coat," she told him firmly over her shoulder as she headed back in the direction of her office.

He gave a low growl of disapproval though found himself instinctively obeying her instruction, his jacket slung about his arm as he leant against the doorframe to her domain mere moments later, watching as she methodically collected her handbag, her light summer coat of a flattering pale blue.

"Just so we're clear," he intoned resolutely as she brushed past him once more on her path to the bullpen. "This doesn't give you carte blanche to interrogate me all the way home, alright? I'm too fucking tired for an in-depth discussion on…."

"No, I know." She held up a tranquil palm. "We'll go there once it's not quite so raw."

"I don't know about that…."

"I'm exhausted too, Boyd." She gave a gentle sigh, suddenly fighting an overwhelming rush of sorrow as it pounded against her heart. "Shall we go?"

He nodded wordlessly and followed her from the desolate room, his chest leaden with grief, with guilt that he was willingly walking away from the memories of Mel Silver entwined in handwritten case notes, in an empty coffee cup, in her long-forgotten cardigan still slung across the back of her chair. He took a steadying, centring breath and forced himself to extinguish the last overhead light, plunging the space behind him into an all-consuming darkness.

* * *

The journey had been made in a depressed yet comfortable silence, each acutely aware that there were precious few words needed in the midst of such intense shared anguish, such deeply-rooted mutual agony. Grace had stolen several glances at him on the pre-text of examining her rear-view mirror, the pallor of his skin increasingly grey in the glare of the sodium street lighting, and she had felt her heart lurch at the dull lifelessness of his eyes, the despairing slump to his shoulders. She had battled with a powerful urge to reach across and take his hand, the desire still present as she slowed to a halt outside his property, and she sighed into the darkness, berating both herself and him for the barriers that still existed unspoken between them.

"Promise me you'll at least try and sleep," she urged, after several moments of stillness had passed once more, occasional passing traffic the only sound to fill the otherwise quietly hollow space.

Boyd gave a soft snort of derision. "Come _on_."

"Note the operative word was 'try', Boyd."

"Yeah, well….You're wasting your breath." He paused briefly, his fingers gripping the door handle before looking back at her intently. "Are you coming in, then, or what?"

Grace felt herself hesitate, unable to accurately read the nuances of his expression in the shadowy penumbra, her heart at once pummelling her ribs as the implications of his question reverberated incessantly around her skull. "Alright," she replied softly at length, drawing her doubts to the recesses of her consciousness as she followed him from the car, ignoring the nagging sense of rational judgement that begged her to reconsider.

He had opened the front door and moved inside by the time she had made her way along the driveway, the warmth radiating from the house a balm against the increasing chill of the English summer night. She inhaled a calming breath and stepped across the threshold, divesting herself of her outer garment and gently closing the door in her wake before following in his footsteps to the kitchen. He was pouring a generous finger of whisky into each of two tumblers, the splash of amber liquid against cold crystal the singular resonance in the stony silence, and he looked up as she entered the room, his expression darkening as he took in her quizzically raised eyebrows.

"What?" he demanded roughly, his voice harsh against the smooth surfaces of the tiled walls.

She shrugged, leaning her weight against the door frame as she regarded him. "I was thinking more of a cup of tea, that's all."

Boyd blew out his breath incredulously. "After today? Not bloody likely, is it?"

"Drinking yourself…."

"There are two glasses there, Grace…."

"…into an alcoholic stupor won't help." She sighed deeply, the air echoing through her chest. "But I know you know that."

He shook his head, partially disappointed at her apparent lack of faith in him. "Do you really think I'd be so fucking egocentric as to go to Mel's parents tomorrow with a hangover?"

She took a step towards him. "Of course not. That's not what I…."

"Then have a drink with me, Grace. One drink." He held out the tumbler towards her as she approached and pressed it into her fingers.

The psychologist raised an eyebrow as she eyed the ample quantity of spirit caressing the edges of the glass. "Large measures?"

"Home measures," he corrected, with a crooked half-smile. "I mean, come on; it's not as though you're going to be driving anywhere else, is it?"

Grace inhaled sharply, his words hitting her squarely in the chest as their ramifications tumbled chaotically through her soul, and she swallowed the sudden anxiety lacing her throat to the pit of her stomach. "Meaning what, exactly?" she murmured in a soft husk, unable to prevent her fingers from trembling as she carefully set the tumbler atop the work surface.

Boyd gave a shuddering sigh and closed his eyes, irritation gnawing at the lining of his stomach. "Jesus Christ, Grace, if all I wanted was a pity-fuck…."

"You'd have, what? Gone home with Frankie?" She instantly regretted the bitter poison of her tone, the uncharacteristically brazen accusation escaping her lips before she could stop it, and she held up her palms in apology. "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for."

"And inaccurate, if you want the truth. There's never been anything between Frankie and…."

"It's none of my business, Boyd. And this is hardly the appropriate time."

"True." He picked up her glass and it proffered it once more. "I just meant I've got a spare room. Several spare rooms, in fact, so you can take your pick."

She smiled and accepted the tumbler anew, grateful and astounded at his sensitivity, his calming of the impending storm between them, and she marvelled briefly at their apparent role-reversal before following him into the lounge.

They sank simultaneously onto his sofa, each suddenly too overcome with bone-deep weariness to care about the appropriate distance between their bodies, their thighs mere inches apart as they sipped their drinks in a muted silence. Boyd's eventual sigh was heartfelt and resonant, the sound rattling through each of his chest bones before escaping to ripple through the motionless air.

"If I'd have been there…," he began morosely, the words cloying in his throat even as Grace took a breath to interrupt him.

"You can't go down that road…."

"…it wouldn't have happened," he continued relentlessly. "There's no way Emily Dell could have…."

"Stop," she told him gently, her free hand gripping his forearm tightly as she sought to impress her assurance into his body. "It _wasn't_ your…."

"Then, whose, Grace?"

The psychologist blew out a lungful of air. "How about the Shepherd's, for a start? His callous manipulation of those already seriously ill young women is what started the chain of events that led us to Emily Dell. If you need to lay the blame at someone's door then his is the one, Boyd; there's no question about that."

"Mel was my responsibility."

"She was also an experienced police officer in her own right. She took the initiative and _she_ made the decision to go to Matt Carney's flat alone. None of us could have foreseen…." Grace broke off abruptly, a swell of anguish tightening about her windpipe and she drew a shuddering breath as the memory of Mel's skull shattering against the car windscreen ravaged her mind's eye once more.

"I think Frankie will resign," he stated flatly, wordlessly brushing his fingers across his companion's as he sensed her struggle for composure at his side, gratified as he felt her squeeze his hand in response before pulling away once more. "Or request a transfer; whatever."

Grace gave a small nod, blinking back the tears that had begun to prickle against her eyes. "I agree. I wish I didn't but I do."

"I should never have asked her to process the scene. I should have signed her and Spence off on compassionate leave as soon as…."

"They'd never have gone. You know that as well as I do."

"Even so."

"I'll talk to her, if you like."

"For all the good it'll do. I don't think there's any way back from the pressure I put her under."

"Just give her time, Boyd. You might find that she…."

He gave a loud snort of interruption. "What? Forgives me?"

"Comes to terms. At least as much as any of us will be able to." She sighed and turned slightly in her seat to face him, taking another generous draw from her whisky before addressing him anew. "I know you're not going to want to hear this…."

He rubbed an exhausted hand across his eyes. "It's never stopped you before…."

"…but over the next few weeks we, all of us, would be well advised to undertake some grief counselling."

He fixed her with a scathing glare. "I'm not about to tell people how they should be coping. That's presumptuous at best, arrogant at…."

"I'm saying this as a mental health professional, Boyd." She leant towards him in earnest. "We lost a close colleague, for God's sake. In exceptionally traumatic circumstances. Even the most psychologically robust person might need help in accepting and dealing with that fact."

"Fine. I'll suggest it."

She held his eye, reading the unspoken reluctance interwoven between the words. "But you're not going to partake yourself, are you?"

He gave an impassioned sigh and drained the remainder of his whisky, setting the tumbler on the carpet at his feet before allowing his head to fall back against the soft cushions of the sofa. "Probably not," he admitted at length, ignoring the despondent sigh he felt escape her lips.

"Why?"

He turned his head to look at her, a small smile playing at the edges of his mouth. "I've got a mental health professional sitting next to me, haven't I?"

Grace shook her head, her expression serious. "It's not the same. I'm too close, for one thing…."

"Are you?"

"…and for another I'm trying to deal with my own feelings about what happened. You need someone who's completely independent and remote from it all."

"I've done the counselling thing, remember? Marriage guidance, anger management….They were a total fucking waste of time."

"Boyd," she cautioned levelly, her hand once more atop his forearm, her sapphire eyes ablaze with sincerity. "If you don't learn how to cope with this, it might cause you all sorts of long-term psychological problems…."

"And equally it might not."

She gave a concessionary shrug. "Of course."

"So, there you go, then."

"I can only advise you as a psychologist. If you choose not to take that advice, it's up to you."

He raised his eyebrows. "On my own head be it?"

"Quite literally. You're an adult and the decision is yours."

He grunted roughly and pushed himself to his feet, leaving the room briefly in a wordless hush and returning several moments later with the whisky bottle, proceeding to refill both of their now empty glasses even as she began to protest.

"I thought we were only having the one," she intoned dryly, though she allowed him to continue unchallenged in his task.

"Tell me to stop pouring, then."

She eyed him guardedly, a twinge of uncertainty pulling at her stomach. "You're sure about the spare room?"

"Of course I'm sure."

He sat back down beside her and handed her the bountiful measure of spirit, Grace feeling the soothing warmth both of his presence and of the alcohol penetrating her bones as she brought the tumbler to her lips. "I miss her," she found herself saying unintentionally, the sentiment breaking the increasingly elongated silence, her heart suddenly heavy with distress. "It's been less than twenty four hours and I already miss her."

Boyd cleared his throat gruffly, agony slicing ribbons through his chest. "Yeah."

"It's a cliché, isn't it, to say you keep expecting the person to walk through the door? But I really did today."

"I know," he agreed softly. "So did I."

"It'll be a while before it starts to seem real, I suppose."

He flicked his eyes sideways towards her as he took a long pull from his drink. "Is this where you roll out the 'five stages of grief' thing?"

She clicked her tongue in disapproval. "Don't be too quick to dismiss it."

"I'm not dismissing it. I just don't think it's applicable to everyone, that's all."

"It's an accepted, generalised way to think about the grieving process. Obviously different individuals will experience it differently."

He paused for a long moment, considering her words carefully before addressing her again. "I assume…that we're all being somewhat insulated by shock at the moment."

"Without a doubt. That sense of numbness, it's…."

"Addictive?"

The psychologist inclined her head. "It can be. That's why people seek solace in drink or drugs, or what have you: to delay the barrage of feeling that facing up to their grief will cause."

"Hm."

She blinked, her throat constricting as a further thought occurred to her. "God, her poor parents. I can't even begin to imagine what they're going through."

"Yeah." His voice was rough against his larynx. "I think it was just about the hardest 'phone call I've ever had to make."

"It's like losing a part of yourself, isn't it? Without any warning or chance to prepare."

"Does that make it harder or easier, do you think?"

She exhaled heavily, memories of her late husband and his lengthy illness filling her consciousness. "I have no idea."

"Thank God."

"Absolutely." She paused briefly, the grief swelling incessantly into the hollow of her stomach. "I don't know how you ever come to terms with it."

He blew out a harsh breath, his omnipresent fears for his own estranged son flickering unbidden through his mind. "Well, what's the alternative? Languishing in your bed all day, wishing you could change something you can't?"

Grace blinked. "I'm just saying…if it was any one of mine…." She stopped sharply, empathetic tears blurring her vision and she was unable to prevent them from beginning to cascade down her cheeks, stifling a gasp as she felt him prise the tumbler away from her fingers and pull her gently into his embrace.

She sobbed unashamedly and uncontrollably against the reassuring breadth of his chest, her previous supremacy over the layers of her grief dissolving instantly as his palms rubbed soothing circles across her back, pulling her ever closer into his body. She could feel his restraint, the tension in the planes of him as he wrestled with their unwritten, unenforced rules and she drew a heady breath as she heard him growl deep in his throat, the fingers of one hand moving to intimately caress the muscles of her neck below her hairline. She felt fire blaze the lengths of her veins, the long-forgotten touch of him against her skin jolting her with shock, and she pulled away slightly, desperate to regain control over both her sorrow and her suddenly pounding heart.

"Sorry," she murmured almost inaudibly, the pads of her fingers wiping the remnant tears roughly from her cheeks as she took a trembling breath to centre herself.

He gave a low, incredulous chuckle and shook his head. "For what?"

"I think I'm going to blame the whisky. I was all ready to save the crying damsel act for when I was alone."

"It's an empathy thing, isn't it? I mean, above and beyond your own personal feelings for Mel."

She nodded silently, shakily. "As parents, I think we…."

"Speak for yourself. I'm too hardened and jaded for…."

She reached forward to lay a palm atop his chest, her hand moving of its own volition. "Don't be absurd. There's no right or wrong way to feel."

"No, I know." He released his hold on her and gave a disconsolate sigh, a maelstrom of emotion swirling dangerously about his shoulders. "Grace…."

"What?"

With a tremulous hand he reached out to stroke her face, his fingertips brushing lightly against the soft swell of her cheek as the pad of his thumb sought her mouth. Instinctively she gripped his wrist, the racing pulse beneath her fingers a clear indication of his heightened state, and she swallowed the desire steadily rising in her bloodstream.

"It would be a mistake," she told him, though she was aware that her quivering tone implied a wavering uncertainty beneath the finality of her words.

"Would it?"

"You know it would."

He gave a heavy sigh, the sound rattling through him and into the dwindling space between them. "I didn't invite you inside to get you into bed."

"No, I know that."

He continued to caress her cheek, gratified by the gentle lines she was now tracing across the back of his hand. "I just…."

"I don't want to rake up the past, Boyd. We've walked the long road to get where we are now and I don't…."

"Grace," he intoned softly, wearily. "I'm too fucking tired for this."

She willed away the tears that were pressing at her throat, the recall of their long and complicated association combining ruthlessly with her present sorrow, her mind scattering as she felt her carefully-held defences beginning to collapse. "So am I," she admitted in a murmur, releasing her tight hold on his wrist and allowing him to edge their bodies ever closer.

"We'll worry about it in the morning."

"Boyd…."

"In the morning; alright?"

She gave a dazed nod, her heart exploding as he touched his lips gently to hers, the memories of his previous kisses cascading through her mind and inflaming her soul, the sudden flood of feeling easily quelling her residual, gnawing doubt. Momentarily he rose slowly from the couch, and she took his proffered hand without hesitation, all rational thought disintegrating as he led her purposefully towards the stairs.

* * *

Grace fastened the buttons of her deep sapphire blouse slowly, sluggishly, her fingers moving of their own accord before automatically reaching for her trousers, her mind a haze as she struggled to feel her way through the psychological mire, through the potent effects of recall. Their encounter the previous night had been hurried and frantic, each equally desperate for release, for a counterpoint to the anguish that was mutually pervading their hearts. She had tried not to think in the aftermath, had forced herself to concentrate on the steady reassurance of his breathing as he held her fast against his chest and not on the comforting warmth of his skin, the ache that penetrated deep within her soul.

She had awoken at the first glimmer of dawn, his lips caressing her neck with a gentle yet focussed dexterity and she had gasped as his fingers had traced circles across her stomach, had slipped atop her ribs to worship her breasts. In an instant, the years had disintegrated and in the darkness she had allowed herself to truly feel the intensity of their connection for the first time in over a decade, unable to prevent his name from escaping her lips as he slid readily inside her. It had been agonisingly, exquisitely decadent, his thrusts deliberately slow, his artful fingers edging her to the point of delirium before moving away, almost as if they were each trying to savour every sensation, every groan of pleasure, every collision of their hearts. It had been far, far more than a simple need for comfort, she reasoned presently, her throat constricting as the romantic descriptor for the act filled her mind with a relentless and unforgiving determination. _Oh, God, I should have walked away when I had the chance, I should have rung a bloody taxi and not looked back. I can't do this to myself again. I just can't._

She sighed heavily, distress wrapping itself tightly about her heart as the sentiment shattered in her chest, and she swallowed resolutely, forcing the ache deep into the pit of her stomach. She caught his gaze then as he watched her from his semi-recumbent position on the bed, his eyes tracking each of her movements as she covered increasingly more of her body with clothing, and she felt him release a frustrated breath into the strained silence.

"You don't have to do this," he growled irritably, his brow marring further into a shadowy frown as he leant towards her, the bedcovers slipping further to reveal more of his naked form. "For God's sake, Grace…."

She reigned in another sigh and glanced deliberately at her watch. "It's past eight, Boyd. I've got things I need to tie up in the office and you…."

"I know." His interruption was brusque, his tone harsh. "I don't need reminding."

Her expression softened instantly, empathy infusing every synapse as she absorbed the flash of pain across his eyes that he was quick to suppress. "Do you want me to come with you?"

He shook his head firmly and moved to take her hand. "What I want," he told her softly, "is for you to stop behaving as if the world just ended."

She looked at him, aghast. "Mel…."

"I'm not talking about Mel."

She held his gaze for a protracted moment, the intensity of his voice gripping brutally at her heart, before sinking once more onto the bed beside him, closing her eyes against the barrage of images that blazed across her memory. "Peter…."

"Look, this doesn't have to blow up into something it isn't, alright? I don't want to go down the analysis route any more than you do."

"So we just write it off as grief, then, do we? Compartmentalise it as a comfort-driven mistake and move on?"

He inclined his head thoughtfully. "'Mistake' might be too strong a term, don't you think?"

"Well, lack of judgement, then. Inevitable as it might have been." She sighed anew, her heart twisting at the realisation that her hand was still intertwined with his. "I have no problem explaining last night away, Boyd, misguided as it probably was…."

"There you go, then. We don't need to confuse this with anything else."

"…but, this morning?" Her voice was quiet, barely above a murmur as she posed the question, watching as the memory of their dawn interaction flickered across the muscles of his face. "That's not quite so easy to put down to Mel's death, is it?"

His jaw had hardened into a granite line and he held her gaze steadily, his dark eyes boring into hers. "Why does it have to be 'put down' to anything?"

She raised her eyebrows incredulously. "Are you being serious?"

"You're talking about how we label it, aren't you?" He released his breath irritably. "That's just my point, Grace."

"You mean we don't."

"I mean there's no need to; what would it achieve?"

Grace gave a soft sigh, her chest rising and falling slowly, and she released his hand with a pang of regret. "And the fact that we've still got to work together?"

"Oh, come on. It's not going to be a problem."

"Isn't it?"

He gestured dismissively before rolling back towards his pillow. "Bigger picture, Grace, for God's sake."

She shook her head, guilt flashing through her chest as she thought suddenly of Mel. "Given our history, Boyd…."

"I told you. Over-analysing this would be a pointless waste of…."

"It's not over-analysing. It's just trying to…put it into some kind of context that means we can still function as colleagues, that's all."

He sighed heavily and leant once more on his elbow to face her. "Can sex not just be sex, then?"

Grace kept her expression deliberately guarded though the pain that lanced through her stomach had unsettled her to the core. "Of course. For some individuals."

"Am I meant to read between the lines here, Grace?"

She held his gaze for a brief moment, desperately trying to read him, before exhaling with an exhausted sense of futility, her soul leaden with affliction as she chastised herself bitterly for the ember of hope she had allowed to flicker unhindered. _How could I have got this so wrong…?_ She wondered morosely, his darkly neutral expression pervading her mind's eye as she replayed their previous minutes' conversation. _It really was just about physical relief for him and nothing more? I thought…._She stopped herself abruptly, unwilling to complete the silent sentence, and she placed her hands atop her thighs in a determined move to stand, astonishment gripping her as he reached for her wrist anew.

She blinked back towards him and forced herself to address him steadily. "If you're not prepared to talk about this, Peter, then there's no point in me staying, is there?"

He blew out a frustrated breath. "How the hell am I supposed to answer that?"

"I told you I didn't want to rake up the past…."

"And neither do I."

"But it's nigh-on impossible, isn't it?" She swallowed resolutely and forced away the tears that were stubbornly stinging her eyes. "We shouldn't have done this."

"Grace…."

"I thought we'd finally reached a point of equilibrium, Boyd, a point where we could be comfortable around each other…."

"We had. We _have_." His fingers on her wrist tightened to demonstrate his sincerity. "This doesn't have to change anything."

_Are you really telling me you couldn't want this again? Oh, Christ, I want you so much, I've never stopped…._ The realisation she had battled to suppress for more than a decade jolted her sharply between the ribs and she drew a shuddering breath. "We just walk away without a backwards glance, then?"

He blinked, sorrow raking briefly across the expanse of his obsidian eyes before his clinical expression returned. "We've done it before, haven't we?"

"It's not as simple as…."

"And neither of us totally lost the plot."

"The difference being that we didn't have to see each other in the aftermath, let alone work together." She gave a bereft sigh. "We should have resolved things a long time ago, Boyd."

"So, let's think of this as a resolution of sorts, then."

"Something we needed to get out of our systems?"

"Why not?" He shrugged his broad shoulders. "It's not that unusual for grief to be a catalyst, is it?"

"No, but…."

"Grace," he interjected firmly. "I'm not going to talk about this anymore, alright? We need to accept it for what it is and draw a line under it."

"Boyd…."

"Look, it comes down to this: we had a couple of drinks at the end of a completely fucking awful day and we ended up in bed. It's as simple as that."

"And examining any deeper would be…?"

"Foolhardy." His tone was stoically firm, his jaw set in a determined line. "At best."

She looked at him, absorbing the impassive planes of his expression, the apparent nonchalance written into his body language, and she extracted her hand from his, her heart contracting at the biting realism of his words. _I wish I could believe it's just self-preservation_, she contemplated silently, rising once more from the bed to retrieve the delicate scarf she had abandoned to the carpet many hours previously, her shaking fingers wrapping it loosely about the cool skin of her neck_. That it's his way of avoiding how he would feel if we scratched beneath the surface….My God, were we really on such different pages this morning? I opened my body and my heart to him, finally allowed myself to admit the truth of what he does to me…and for him it was all about comfort, about delaying the cold reality of Mel's death?_ _And was it all just physical fourteen years ago too? I let myself believe, _wanted_ to believe that it was about so much more than that…._She sighed heavily, a decision solidifying in her mind as she turned back to face him.

"I'm going to take a leave of absence," she told him, one palm raised in defence as he began to protest noisily. "Just for a week or two."

"A holiday?" he scoffed derisively. "For Christ's sake…."

"You can mark it off as whatever you like: annual leave, compassionate leave…."

"I'm not your boss. As you frequently take great pains to remind me."

She exhaled softly at the barbed thorns of his tone. "I need some space, Boyd, alright? Surely you can understand that."

He held her gaze unwaveringly. "From me?"

"I need some time to grieve for Mel. You'd be well advised to do the same."

"It's not necessary."

"Well, fine. But I'm telling you that it is for me." She picked up her cardigan and hooked it over her arm. "I'll finish what needs finishing and then I'll go tomorrow; okay?"

He took a breath to argue but felt himself deflate as he absorbed the anguish pouring from every line of her body, the hurt she was evidently and fervently holding at arm's length. "Fine," he said eventually, her name escaping his lips softly as she moved to reach for the door handle. "Grace?"

"What?" She had half-turned back towards him, her face partially hidden in shadow.

"I don't regret it, you know. Any of it."

She took a shuddering breath, the tremors wracking her shoulders as she fought desperately for composure. "I'll see you soon, Peter."

"I'm counting on it."

He fell back against the pillows as she made a swift exit from the room, expelling the tension from his body in a single, exhausted breath into the silence and allowing his thoughts to swirl despondently to form a cyclone inside his skull. _I couldn't tell her_, he mused blackly, guilt and regret mingling into a hot ball in his stomach. _All these years down the line and I still haven't got the balls….but worse than that, I apparently don't have the courage to walk away either. For fuck's sake, making love to her? And in exactly those terms? Talk about fucking masochistic._ He gave a grave sigh, the air rumbling through the expanse of his chest. _And all I could do was pretend it meant nothing, that it was something we need to forget. When quite frankly it's the last thing I want to do…._

He pushed himself to a seated position, his feet planted firmly on the floor as he rubbed his eyes vigorously in a futile attempt to banish the unrelenting notions of his mind. _I can't do this now_, he told himself flatly, intensely vivid images of Mel's lifeless body exploding brutally behind his eyes and reasserting the reality of the task ponderously awaiting him in the hours ahead. _ I need to focus on Mel and her poor fucking parents. Nothing else matters today. _With a renewed sense of determined purpose, he rose from the bed and headed definitively for the shower.

TBC


	24. Chapter 24

**Disclaimer, Pairing & Content**: See chapter 1.

**Rating**: T, for language.

**A/N**: Thanks so much for all of your lovely reviews on the previous chapter! I'm aiming to get (at least!) a chapter written a month from now on, which should mean the whole thing will be finished by my baby's due date – fingers crossed! Anyways, this chapter is meant to follow on directly from the end of the S5 episode, 'Straw Dog', so there are definite spoilers included within – the dialogue in italics at the beginning of the chapter is lifted directly from the episode also x

* * *

**October 2005**

Boyd sat back in his chair, the soft leather yielding readily to the weight of his body, his fingers straying mindlessly to trace the bristles of his beard as he observed the hunched, petite form through the stark glass partition before him. He had toyed briefly with the idea of not divulging the truth about Harry Taylor, of allowing her the indulgence of his unsolicited protection, but he had dismissed the notion just as easily. She deserved to know the facts of her former lover's death, as much as she had deserved to know the depths of his deception in life. He sighed heavily into the tranquil air, his heart thick with a haze of anguish as his mind recalled the conversation they had had a mere three days' previously, his conscience twisting as he remembered the forceful, unrelenting tone of his voice, the dull sheen pervading her eyes….

…

_He leant forward earnestly across the desk towards her, the demand passing across his lips as his focus sharpened to a single, determined point. "Why hadn't you had contact with Harry in over a year?"_

_Grace held his gaze levelly, even as he detected the increased pulse in the hollow of her throat, the quickly concealed flinch at his question. "That's personal, Boyd."_

"_It's nothing personal," he dismissed with a frown, the notion that she had deliberately hidden aspects of her past unsettling him in a largely unexamined corner of his heart. "Now, come on: tell me."_

_She sighed, though her jaw tightened defensively. "You're a colleague, for God's sake…."_

"_You told me to investigate you; that's what I'm doing, yeah? You said you were the first link in the chain of evidence; well, you're right. Absolutely right, so answer me the question: why hadn't you spoken to Harry?"_

…

He released a tense breath as the memory of her voice in monotone streaked across the pathways of his mind, the words falling reluctantly from her lips as she softly divulged the details of her separation from Harry Taylor, the blinding intrusion of the hospital lights almost tangible as she described the course of action she had felt forced to take. He had been unable to speak as she had concluded the story, the constriction in his throat utterly overwhelming any attempts at platitudes as he watched the sorrow and regret pour from her eyes in a dizzying wave, the reasons behind her previous reticence and her deeply personal connection to their investigation suddenly, agonisingly clear. It had also been bitterly apparent that she had never intended upon telling him, her long silence broken only by his dogged and brutal line of questioning, and he felt a surge of guilt grasp at his stomach. _I needed to know, I had to…but, Christ, I had no idea just how much this would cost you…._

He ran a hand roughly across his face, movement from her office catching his attention as his fingers fell away once more, and her name was in the air beyond his mouth before he could temper the instinct, her slender form appearing around his doorframe wrapped tightly in the fine wool of her coat.

"I was just about to leave," she told him with a frown, indicating both her attire and the large bag creasing a line across her shoulder.

"I know…."

"Whatever it is, Boyd, it can wait 'til the morning. This has been a long enough day without…."

"Just come in for a minute, will you?"

She held both her breath and his gaze for a long moment before relenting, her soft sigh deflating her lungs as she entered his domain and dropped warily onto the couch, her eyes tracking him as he rose from his desk and moved wordlessly to sit beside her.

Grace held up a pre-emptive palm, even as he prepared to speak. "I'm not ready for a de-brief…."

He blinked, her statement cutting beneath his skin, and he gave an irritable sigh. "What do you take me for, for God's sake?"

"Look, I appreciate what you did, alright? I know telling me the truth about Harry's death wasn't an easy thing for you."

"But?"

"But, quite frankly, I don't want to go over it again."

"I've got no intention of going over it again. I don't want to talk about that bent bastard any more than I have to, at least not in that context."

She sighed. "Boyd…."

"What?"

"There's something about not speaking ill of the dead. All the years as head of this Unit, I thought that might have been a given by now."

Boyd blew out his breath. "Yeah, well….there are exceptions, Grace. And Harry Taylor is one massive fucking exception."

She frowned, her tone pointed as she asked him, "Did you actually ever meet him?"

"Did I need to have, to form an opinion?"

"Well, it helps, doesn't it?"

"Not in this particular instance. I think I know all I need to know where Taylor is concerned."

"Hm."

He caught the note of scepticism in her voice and frowned. "Oh, come on. You can't tell me you're surprised I'm not his biggest fan?"

"Is that what you wanted to talk about?"

"Am I not entitled to feel that way after what he did to you?"

She softened, her features slackening at the barely-concealed indignation behind his words. "It was a long time ago…."

"I know that…."

"Before you and I even met…."

"Is that relevant?"

"I was a different person back then, Boyd. I was…woefully naïve and I paid the price."

"The ultimate price." He stole a quick breath and looked at her, watching her battle with thirty years' worth of grief as it contorted her façade of neutrality, feeling his voice catch against the edges of his control as he asked her gently, "Why did you never tell me?"

She pressed her lips together, fighting the tears that were clawing for release in her throat, and she gave a shaky sigh. "It wasn't something I was…something I _am_ particularly proud of."

"I would never have judged you. Surely you know that."

"Oh, I know."

"Then, why?"

She sighed again, the air expelling gently from her lungs as she struggled to order her thoughts. "I think…on a fundamental level…I'd somehow managed to compartmentalise it, to…relegate it to another life, before Jack and the kids. Almost as if I could pretend it had happened to someone else."

He inclined his head. "That's understandable."

"When we met, Boyd, there was so much else going on for me. It was just never the right time to confront it."

He held her gaze, the memory of their intense connection expanding painfully through his heart. "With me, specifically?"

"With anyone." She gave a small shrug. "To be honest, I think I was only forced to now because of this case."

Boyd gave a heavy sigh, his voice coated thickly with regret. "I needed to know, Grace. It was all connected to you."

"I know that. I'm not blaming you."

"I could arguably have handled it a bit more…delicately than I did."

She smiled, her first genuine expression of peace in several days. "I've known you for a long time…."

"Oh, don't. I'm trying to apologise for being a bullish prick…."

"I'm not holding it against you, is what I'm saying. Your focus was on saving Kevin Keogh's life, which is exactly where it should have been."

He shook his head sharply in rebuttal. "Even so…pressing you to bring up deeply personal events from your past…."

"Boyd," she interrupted softly, reaching out to take his hand reassuringly. "It's fine."

He narrowed his eyes, unable to prevent his thumb from tracking the softness of her skin as he surveyed her. "You're not doing that female thing where you say one thing and…?"

"Mean another?" She gave a warm smile. "No. As difficult as it was to examine, I feel…a lot more at peace about it now. Almost like I can look back and begin to entertain the idea of forgiving myself."

"No more guilt?"

"There'll always be guilt," she countered quietly as the sensation flared acidly in her chest once more. "What I did was one of the most selfish…."

He blew out a dismissive breath. "That's the Catholic upbringing talking."

"I had an abortion, Boyd. Because I couldn't see a way of raising that baby by myself."

"Right. After learning that its father was a complete waste of space." He squeezed her hand tightly as he felt her begin to protest. "You did what you thought was the right thing at the time, Grace. Both for you, _and_ for your child."

"I was thinking about my career." Her tone was bitter, the self-recrimination acutely evident as the words fell into the space between them.

"And what the hell's so wrong with that?"

"It's just….always coloured everything I've achieved, Boyd. I wonder how different things might have been if I'd just had the guts to…."

"Pointless bollocks," he interrupted gruffly, ignoring the gentle sigh that shuddered from her body. "Hindsight's a bitch."

"So speaks the voice of experience?"

He looked at her intensely, a wave of unspoken sentiment flooding agonisingly between them, and he allowed the silence which permeated the air to elongate further before replying, "Bitterly."

Grace took a deep, calming breath and forced herself to look away, the subtext beneath his response abundantly clear, and she squeezed his fingers for a final time before extricating herself from his grasp. "I should go," she told him quietly, rising slowly to her feet and moving towards the door.

"Grace?"

She turned at the soft timbre of his voice as he spoke her name, her heart catching in her chest as she absorbed the melancholic set to his shoulders. "Boyd?

"For what it's worth…and for all that shit about backwards reflection and its pointlessness…you deserved better."

She blinked, his ambiguous statement unsettling her briefly as she considered its meaning, painfully aware that it could apply equally to any one of the three most significant men in her adult life. For an intensely lucid moment she found herself imagining Boyd in Harry Taylor's place, his reaction to her unexpected pregnancy one of overwhelming joy, pledging his unwavering support as she blossomed to full term with his child, and she shook her head sharply as visions of an alternative past and future flourished enthusiastically in her mind. _I can't go there_, she told herself firmly. _What the hell would it achieve?_

She managed a small smile, even as she fought to dampen the ashes of the fantasy. "Thank you," she murmured faintly, her heart tearing as he reflected her expression with ease.

"I'll see you in the morning."

She nodded silently and stepped across the threshold, leaving Boyd to release his breath into the abrupt silence and lean his broad form heavily back against the sofa. _You deserved better…._His own words rang oppressively in his ears as he considered both their unquestionable truth and the inevitable self-loathing that arose upon examination of their meaning. _Christ, I wouldn't have been any better for her,_ he mused darkly. _Not in the long-run. Even if I still harbour the misguided notion that I could somehow have saved her from that bastard, Taylor…and from her abusive husband….Even then I could never have been what she deserved. _He sighed ponderously and rose

sluggishly to his feet before moving to re-establish himself behind his desk, his fingers moving instinctively to the piles of paperwork that adorned the surface. He was aware that the escapism, the distraction that it provided could at times border dangerously on repression but he was equally aware of its necessity; in the present moment he embraced it fully, gratefully allowing his mind to focus tightly on the words before him and to stoically vanquish any further thoughts of Grace before they could overwhelm him.

TBC


	25. Chapter 25

**Disclaimer, Pairing & Content**: See chapter 1.

**Rating**: T, for language.

**A/N**: So, I appear to have woefully failed in my aim to get one chapter of this written per month! Usual excuses, I'm afraid – pregnancy + toddler + general lack of time, energy and enthusiasm! Anyways, this is set after the S6 episodes 'Double Bind' and 'Yahrzeit'….I'm going to apologise in advance for its distinct lack of quality but I hope you manage to enjoy it somehow! Thanks so much for sticking with me, I really do appreciate it x

* * *

**February 2007**

Boyd replaced the telephone handset gently and reclined slowly in his chair, self-directed irritation crackling through his stomach as he felt his features settle into a deep frown. He had expected to feel elation, an edgy anticipation at having finally decided upon a course of action, but instead the guilt that coursed thickly through his veins cast an increasingly darkening shadow across any palpable flicker of happiness. His attraction to Sarah Levin had caught him completely by surprise; she had walked unexpectedly into his life, had been instrumental in solving an important historical case, and somewhere along the way she had buried her way unbidden beneath his skin. He had seen his own vulnerability, his own damaged soul reflected back to him as she had described her own personal tragedy, the realisation igniting a fierce flame of need as he acknowledged an intense desire to explore their connection further. She had returned to the United States after issuing him with an invitation to visit her and after several days' hesitation he had booked an airline ticket, long-forgotten thrills initially prickling along his spine at the prospect of a week spent in her company. The guilt had followed oppressively in its wake almost as soon as they had uttered their goodbyes and presently he drew a breath, acutely aware of the reasons behind the unpleasant sensation but unwilling to examine them in detail. _I don't owe you an explanation_, he thought forcefully, his gut twisting as Grace Foley's face exploded painfully behind his eyes. _And I certainly shouldn't be feeling fucking guilty for finally deciding to move on…._

In retrospect, it was obvious to Boyd that his relationship with the psychologist had been slowly and bitterly deteriorating for the better part of a year, their initial closeness in the wake of Mel Silver's death gradually giving way to an increasingly widening chasm. It had culminated in a brutal argument some months previously, the barbs of their respective words wounding each of them, he knew, beyond measure; she had accused him of being repressed, depressed and in denial, and he in turn had dismissed her with an icy blast of indifference, attacking her professionalism in a relentless tirade of invective. She had walked away and he had been rendered utterly bereft, his relief upon her return a balm to his tortured soul, and he had initially presumed that their relationship would heal in due course, that they would gradually move towards each other once more as they had done so inexorably in the past. Sarah Levin had shattered his assumption before he had even consciously acknowledged it, suddenly altering his priorities, and Grace had been relegated to a sublevel in his mind.

_It's not before time_, he pondered presently, forcing the lingering and persistent guilt to the base of his stomach as he rubbed a weary hand across his eyes. _ I've been tied to you for too many years, unable to let go of the past…and now I've been afforded an opportunity to do just that. I'd be a fucking fool not to take it. _With a determined effort he rose from his desk, studiously ignoring the soft voice calling his name from the cavern of her office as he strode purposefully away, his mind moving deliberately towards Sarah and the burgeoning promise of the future.

* * *

Grace stared unfocussed into the ruby depths of her wineglass, her eyes hazily tracing the ripples across its surface as she swirled the stem, her mind flickering unbidden towards a topic she had stoically and determinedly avoided ever since it had presented itself unapologetically before her. It had been painfully obvious the way the situation would inevitably unfold, she had known that within a minute of seeing him with Sarah Levin; the younger woman was feisty and tenacious, as stubborn and single-minded as he when it came to producing the desired result on their mutual case, and as Grace had observed them their fierce attraction had become increasingly blatant, increasingly tangible. The knowledge had lanced through her heart with an unexpectedly brutal vigour, exposing in startling clarity the contrast to her own crumbling relationship with Boyd, and she had fought to maintain her objectivity, unable to completely supress the intense sadness that had wrapped itself tightly about her soul. _I as good as pushed him into her arms_, she pondered presently, the wine burning down her throat as she sipped mindlessly from her glass. _All that crap about him being isolated and unloved….It couldn't be further from the truth but I so desperately needed to hurt him. To wound him somewhere fundamental…and I'm not even really sure I know why. Oh, I can rationalise the reasons 'til the cows come home: the instinctive transference of his guilt and anger about Mel and his son onto me, the subsequent deterioration of both our professional and personal relationships, his pushing me to the absolute limit of endurance…but why I chose the word 'unloved', why I couldn't stop myself from making that argument so intensely personal when I should have taken the higher ground….I'm not so deluded as to think it the sole cause of his new state of affairs…but wouldn't it be just like him to try and prove me wrong?_

Grace blinked, momentarily confused by the cheerful knocking sound as it abruptly pervaded the melancholic train of her thoughts, and she rose to her feet to answer the door, forcing the deep sadness to the base of her spine as she acknowledged the identity of her unexpected visitor.

"I was just passing," Gina Sutton announced with a grin, stepping across the threshold to brush a gentle kiss against her mother's cheek as the older woman ushered her inside. "Any chance of a cuppa?"

Grace smiled warmly, eagerly welcoming the distraction that her eldest child had unwittingly provided. "Or a glass of red? I've just opened a bottle of Merlot…."

Gina's grin broadened as she moved into the living room and dropped unceremoniously onto the couch. "Go on, then."

"You're not driving, are you?"

The younger woman raised an eyebrow. "Is this where I remind you that I'm almost thirty? Of course I'm not bloody driving."

"Mother's prerogative, I'm afraid." Grace poured a generous glass of wine and handed it to her daughter, who gave a grateful smile. "This really is a lovely surprise, Gina."

The younger woman shrugged. "I keep threatening to drop in on you. Thought it was about time I actually did it."

"It feels like a long time since I've seen you."

"Well, it is. Between your work and mine, there never seems to be a spare moment, does there?"

Grace inclined her head in acknowledgement and settled comfortably onto the couch at her daughter's side, retrieving as she did so her own wine glass from the table. "So, how are you, love? How's Claire?"

"Oh, we're fine. Ridiculously conflicting schedules at the moment but we're managing." Gina sipped her wine and regarded her mother thoughtfully. "How are _you_?"

Grace gave a dismissive wave, irritated at the sudden constriction pulling at her throat. "Same as always, to be honest."

"Nose to the grindstone?"

"Something like that."

"Honestly, Mum. Do you never think about slowing down? Maybe even retiring?"

The psychologist smiled. "God forbid I should even _think_ the 'r' word, let alone anything else."

"I just don't think it can be good for you, that's all: all those intense cases and long hours….They're going to take their toll eventually."

"Without a doubt." Grace sighed in agreement and took a long pull from her glass before looking at her daughter anew, gratitude filling her at the younger woman's concern. "I'll know when it's time to stop, love, alright? I promise."

Gina narrowed her eyes in an expression of suspicious doubt. "And if Boyd tries to twist your arm?"

The older woman barked a bitter, mirthless laugh, relentless images of her former lover spiralling through her mind. "I shouldn't think there'd be much chance of that. I imagine he'd be the first to slam the door shut behind me, all things considered."

Gina frowned deeply at her mother's tone and placed her glass gently onto the coffee table before her. "What's going on?" she asked softly, her brow furrowing further as she watched the older woman grimace painfully, the regret she clearly felt at her previous words written into every exaggerated line of her face.

"Nothing, love. It's just work."

"And for 'work' should I in fact read 'Boyd'?"

Grace heaved a shuddering sigh, her child's perceptiveness not at all surprising her. "They're one and the same, Gina…."

The younger woman exhaled dismissively. "I don't believe that for a second. What the hell's he done?"

"It's nothing he's done," Grace lied swiftly with a determined shake of her head, forcing the agonising memories of the man in question and the woman who was undoubtedly now his lover to the churning pit of her stomach.

"Then, what? It's not like you to be so evasive, Mum…."

"It's not deliberate, Gina. There's really isn't anything to say…."

"Oh, come on. He's normally the first person you mention when you talk about your work."

Grace felt her eyebrows rise of their own volition. "Is he?"

"You know he is." Gina sighed heavily and rubbed a hand across her eyes. "Personally I've always thought he was a bit of an arsehole…."

"Gina…."

"…but I'm willing to be proved wrong." She regarded her mother more closely, distress knotting in her throat as she absorbed the dark indigo circles beneath Grace's eyes, the tension pervading her slender shoulders, and she felt her own mouth harden into a determined line. "Somehow I don't think I'm going to be, though, am I?"

Grace held her daughter's gaze for a protracted moment before exhaling steadily, willing equilibrium back to her consciousness as she replied, "I don't know how you want me to answer that, love."

Gina shrugged. "You're not going to deny he's pissed you off, are you?"

"I'm not pissed off…."

"Professionally or personally?"

"Neither."

"Because from where I'm sitting it looks very much like a combination of being seriously pissed off and…."

"And?" Grace prompted with an arched eyebrow as the younger woman's sentence suddenly faltered into silence.

"And," Gina rallied stoically, her eyes locking to her mother's unwaveringly, "being seriously hurt."

Grace bit back a sigh, forcing herself to draw a breath deep into her lungs, to calm the fraying edges of her nerves, to regain her characteristic serenity beneath the determined scrutiny of her eldest child. "We're just going through something of a professional rough patch," she answered carefully, the half-truth of the statement causing a noxious flair of acid in her chest. "That's all it is."

The younger woman looked unconvinced. "Brought on by what?"

"Oh, God knows. Trying to get a straight answer out of him at the moment is a completely pointless exercise."

"Hm." Gina inclined her head thoughtfully. "So I was totally off-base, then, with thinking you're upset?"

"Well, maybe not totally. I have to admit our latest argument did get a bit…vicious. We both said things I think we regret."

Gina blinked, wondering briefly how to raise her next point before allowing the words to tumble from her mouth. "The two of you…go back a long way, don't you? I mean, you've known him a lot longer than just working together at the CCU."

Grace nodded slowly. "I consulted on a case he was involved in, back in the Nineties. Why?"

"How far back?"

"What?"

"How far back in the Nineties was it?"

The older woman pretended to consider the question, despite the date being burned hotly into her memory. "Nineteen-ninety, I think. Is it important?"

Gina sighed heavily, the air rattling through her body and into the space between them as she debated the wisdom of her preceding words. "When I was a teenager we had a conversation….There was a lad at school who accused you of…."

"I remember." Grace's reply was brusque as she abruptly interrupted her daughter's statement.

"You said he was just a friend," the younger woman continued softly, her eyes flickering across her mother's as she watched for the tiniest hint of reaction. "It _was_ Boyd, wasn't it?"

Grace felt herself hesitate as she regarded the uncertainty, the expectation in her child's expression, and she gave a heartfelt sigh, silently debating the extent to which she wished to reveal the harsh truth of her past. "It was," she confirmed eventually, her heart constricting painfully in her chest. "But, Gina…."

"And I'm guessing from the look on your face…that it went a bit further than simple friendship."

The older woman sighed anew, her shoulders trembling slightly with the effort of maintaining her composure. "I don't think we should be having this conversation, love."

Gina gave a dismissive wave. "Oh, Mum, come on. I'm an adult, for God's sake."

"But you're still my daughter…and there are things I'm sure daughters would rather not know about their mothers."

The younger woman blew out an exasperated breath and reached for her mother's hand. "I know you were seeing someone before Dad died, alright? I was hugely in denial about it at the time but I've come to terms with it now."

Grace felt her chest contort, an unrestrained wave of guilt flooding through her at her daughter's admission, and she choked back a sob, the anguished tears stinging her eyes threatening to spill in rivulets across her cheeks. "Gina…," she managed hoarsely.

"It's really okay, Mum," her daughter replied gently, squeezing Grace's fingers tightly in her own before pulling away once more.

"It's the furthest thing from that," Grace intoned at length, swallowing the stubborn ball of pressure in her throat with a monumental effort. "I'm not going to insult you by trying to defend myself."

"You don't need to defend yourself." Gina paused briefly before speaking again, her tone soft. "I had a lot of therapy in my early twenties…and it helped me face up to the fact that Dad was violent, something I think I probably supressed at the time…."

"He was ill, love…."

"Be that as it may. You were under immense pressure and him knocking you around must have just compounded it."

"I don't think he knew what he was doing most of the time…and it's certainly no excuse for how I behaved."

"Maybe not…but it definitely makes it understandable." Gina gave a soft sigh as she pondered her next question. "Were you in love with him?"

"With Dad? Of course I…."

The younger woman rolled her eyes exasperatedly, cutting off her mother's reply with a swift gesture. "With _Boyd_, for God's sake."

Grace exhaled gently and leant forward towards her daughter, ignoring the agonising twisting of her gut as she moved quickly to supress the truth. "Look, love….It was a brief, stupid thing I did, something I wish I could take back…and it was over almost as soon as it had begun…."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"What difference does it make now?"

"Because I've often wondered over the years…whether you might _still_ be in love with him."

Grace felt her breath catch at the question, the affirmation deep within her soul making her heart pound, and she fought desperately to maintain an air of neutrality. "It isn't like that between us, Gina."

"Mum," Gina said firmly, reaching for the older woman's hand anew. "If you've got a chance to be happy now, you need to take it. You've got to let go of all the guilt that's held you back since Dad died and just…."

"I thought I was meant to be the psychologist." Grace's interruption was wry, even as she folded her fingers about her daughter's.

"The guilt's pointless. You're still beating yourself up over something that happened a lifetime ago."

"Well, of course I am, love. The circumstances were…."

"Impossible. It was a thoroughly shit time for all of us, you just found a coping mechanism that was…."

"…and now knowing that you _knew_…." Grace snatched a quick breath, remorse filling her chest cavity with a relentless wave of black. "I'm so sorry, Gina."

"You've got _nothing_ to be sorry for, Mum, alright? Absolutely nothing." The younger woman's voice was insistent. "I told you before, I wasn't aware of anything consciously at the time…and before you start worrying further, I've got no doubt that Nick and Beth had any idea either."

"Well, regardless. I need you to know that your Dad and I were happy, love….His illness just stole him away from me one piece at a time."

"I know. And I need _you_ to know that whatever happened back then shouldn't even remotely impact on your current or future happiness, okay? Whether that's with Boyd or someone else."

Grace gave a grim smile. "It's not going to be with Boyd, Gina."

"Why not? Because, and you can deny this all you want, there's no doubt in my mind how you feel about him."

"How I feel about him is immaterial."

"Why?"

Grace sighed shakily. "Because he's with someone else, alright? And it already seems as though it might be quite serious."

Gina's mouth drew into a disapproving line. "Ah."

"Some things just aren't meant to be, love. I'm old enough and ugly enough to accept that and move on."

The younger woman's smile was sad. "I don't think there's an upper age-limit on heartbreak, is there?"

Grace gave a disdainful wave, though she felt her stomach give an acidic lurch. "I think that's being overly dramatic. He's my friend and I want what's best for him."

"I could hazard a guess that _you'd_ be what's best for him…."

"Gina…."

"…but I won't." Gina paused briefly and caressed her mother's hand once more. "I'm sorry, Mum. I really am."

"Thanks, love. It's a storm in a teacup, really."

Gina took a breath to reply but was interrupted by the cheerful musical tone of her mobile ringing insistently from her handbag, her partner's name flashing on the screen causing a moment of indecision in her chest as she stole another surreptitious look at her mother. In the next second she had cancelled the call, silently apologising to the perpetually patient woman at the other end of the line as she slid the phone back into its silver casing.

"Was that Claire?" Grace asked softly after several moments had passed in silence.

"I'll ring her back…."

"You should go home, love."

"If you need me to stay, it's not a problem."

Grace gave a gentle laugh, deeply touched by her daughter's concern. "I'll be fine. Honestly."

Gina frowned, fresh tendrils of uncertainty wrapping themselves about her heart as she studied the older woman's face. "Are you absolutely sure? I don't want to leave you here alone if all you're going to do is cry into your wine glass."

Grace's chuckle was genuine. "Over a man? You've got to be joking."

The younger woman grinned, relief flooding readily into her chest. "Good."

"Go on, off you go. Go and take Claire out to dinner or something and enjoy your evening."

"Actually that's not a half-bad idea."

Gina rose to her feet, pulling her mother along with her and into a fierce embrace once they reached the narrow hallway, her mind noting with dismay the fragility of the older woman's bones, the tension still embedded into every sinew of her slender body.

"I'll call you in the morning," she told Grace as they naturally parted. "Okay?"

"It's really not necessary…."

"Okay, Mum?"

Grace gave a slow, resigned smile and nodded, her eldest child's dogged and characteristic determination amusing her. "Okay, love."

"Good." Gina bent to kiss the older woman gently on the cheek. "Try not to drink all the wine, eh?"

"What is this: role reversal?"

"Too bloody right."

Grace smiled fondly. "I'll speak to you tomorrow, Gina. Make sure you give Claire my love, won't you?"

"Of course. 'Night, Mum."

The younger woman stepped out into the frost-bitten night and Grace closed the door in her wake before allowing her guard to finally drop, feeling her eyebrows draw into a tight frown as she felt her defences begin to crumble. Her stoicism in light of Boyd's current relationship status had been defiantly honest in some respects, she pondered as she forced herself to move away from the threshold and back towards the lounge, retrieving her glass of wine and sinking slowly onto the sofa once more. _And a laughable fallacy in others._ She sighed bitterly into the half-light. _I don't want to consciously examine whether I'm still in love with him, whether I was ever truly in love with him…and even if I did, what would it possibly achieve? It's something that never should have seen the light of day in the first place all those years ago, however wonderfully forgiving my daughter's nature has turned out to be….Christ, and that's another issue altogether. I'm not sure I'll ever be able to let go of the guilt. _Sighing, she took a long swallow to empty her glass before reaching blindly for the bottle once more.

TBC


End file.
